


Drive Me Crazy

by expectingtofly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Truckers, Anal Sex, Bobby Singer is Dean Winchester's Parent, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2021 (Supernatural), Fluff, From Sex to Love, Inspired by the song "Drive Me Crazy" by Orville Peck, Light Angst, M/M, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Pining, References to Canon, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Trucker!Castiel Novak, Trucker!Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectingtofly/pseuds/expectingtofly
Summary: After fourteen years of driving across the country, Dean has finally decided to hang up his keys, settle down, and take over the Singer Auto Shop. Only one more week of driving stands between him and the next chapter of his life.One problem—Cas doesn’t know yet.For seven years now, Dean and Cas have been hooking up in the rare times their routes cross each other… and Cas secretly wishes their no-strings-attached arrangement could turn into something more.While Cas tries to find the words to tell Dean what he really wants, Dean wonders how Cas will fit into his life after he quits driving. Nowhere better to figure it all out than on the open road.(Inspired by the song "Drive Me, Crazy" by Orville Peck)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester (mentioned)
Comments: 73
Kudos: 169
Collections: Dean/Cas Reverse Bang 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the INCREDIBLE artwork in this fic was created by [impmakesart](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/). i'm so happy i got to write a story to accompany this amazing art, and i had such a great time working with mack :)) make sure to check out the art post [here](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/644032341800566784/drive-me-crazy) and leave some lovely comments :)
> 
> thanks also to [inlovewithsaturn](https://inlovewithsaturn.tumblr.com/) and [Mr_Stinky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Stinky/pseuds/Mr_Stinky) for helping me out with this fic, and to the mods for making this such a fun event :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't use tons of "trucking terms" in this fic, but if there are any terms you don't recognize, here's a [trucking glossary](https://www.truckingtruth.com/trucking-glossary/) which i used while researching for this story
> 
> and here's a [playlist](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLjc3wphLX9c1t7pHp-opuMgbz6xDRftzE) of songs which inspired this fic :)

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Dean was twenty-five when he first saw Cas on a stretch of road fifty-one miles outside of Golden, Colorado, on a sunny afternoon in August of 2004. If anyone asked him, he’d never admit to remembering all those details. But he did.

He was driving down I-70, hoping to make it at least 180 miles more before stopping for the night. He’d hit a truck stop along his route that, with any luck, would have parking spots open when he got there.

Sunlight glinted off the hoods of the cars passing him in the left lane and, glancing in his side mirror, he saw another rig approaching, turn signals flashing to pass him. From the brief glimpse he got, he didn’t think he recognized the driver. After so many years of solo driving, he knew plenty, but he could still go weeks without seeing anyone he knew on the road.

The truck behind him merged into the left lane, and Dean heard his CB radio crackle, someone mentioning a slowdown ahead. _Shit._ Traffic had been smooth all day, the roads mostly empty. A good driving day, the kind that didn’t come as frequently as he wished.

The rig was passing him, and he looked to his left at the driver. And he would swear he didn’t remember the moment this vividly—and maybe his mind had filled in extra details over the years—but he remembered the way Cas (just another nameless driver at that moment) looked over at him. And maybe it was a trick of sunlight on Cas’ face, but something tugged in Dean’s chest. 

Cas lifted his hand in a wave and Dean managed to nod. He watched Cas pull back into the right lane after passing him, and his heart was oddly thumping. He didn’t believe in fate, and maybe it was just chance that crossed his and Cas’ paths, but looking back, it sure felt like fate.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_present day **·** October 2011_

Stars littered the sky when Dean pulled off the road into the Love’s parking lot. It was later than he’d hoped to get there, already past 8pm, and he scanned the rows and rows of trucks parked tight alongside each other, hoping there were still spaces open.

He found a few free spots at the back of the lot and pulled in next to another rig. Slinging his bag holding a change of clothes and toiletries over his shoulder, he headed across the lot to the truck stop. His joints felt a little stiff from sitting the majority of the day, but he was used to the aches and pains by now, and, anyway, a long driving day was worth it to get here by tonight.

Inside, he paid for a shower at the counter, looking around the convenience store and adjoining fast-food dining area to see if he recognized anyone. No one familiar. He checked his phone when he got his shower ticket, but no new texts. 

He’d eaten on the road when it became apparent he wouldn’t be reaching this stop until later so, after waiting in line and finally showering, he decided to head back to his truck and wait there. 

As he made his way through the crowded Love's, though, he heard someone call his name. “Hey, Dean!” 

Glancing around, Dean caught sight of Benny sitting in the dining area. Making his way over there, he clapped Benny on the shoulder, sank into the chair opposite him. “Hey, thought you’d be up further north by now.”

Benny balled up a napkin and shoved into a fast-food bag laying on the table. “Had to stop to get an axle fixed. I’m gonna have to haul ass to reach Portland by my drop-off date.”

“What are you doing lazing around here, then?”

Benny narrowed his eyes at him and Dean laughed, glancing around again. Still no sign.

“You have one more week, right?” Benny asked, pulling his attention back.

Had he told Benny? He forgot who all he’d told. “Yeah.” He shifted, resting his bag on the tops of his boots instead of the floor. “‘Bout time. These past weeks have been dragging on.”

“Don’t worry, one week at home and you’ll be wishing you were back.”

“Probably right. Always works out that way.” A slight chill made him look up to see the door to outside opening, and there was Cas—a little late, but he was here. 

Cas held the door open for someone to leave, then entered. His eyes met Dean’s and though his expression didn’t reveal much, Dean thought he was holding back a smile. Dean nodded at him in greeting and Cas nodded back before heading into the convenience store. 

Benny was still talking, and Dean focused back on him, fell into the usual conversation— complaints about delays in loading, route changes, and idiot drivers slowing everyone down. He kept an eye on the door, though, and when he caught sight of Cas leaving, made an excuse as soon as he was able, and left the store after him. 

The lot seemed even busier than when he’d arrived, lines stretching out behind the fuel pumps, streetlights making odd shadows in between trucks packed close together. He paused before crossing the lot, waiting for a rig to pass. Twelve weeks since he’d last seen Cas. Not the longest stretch of time they’d been apart, but long enough.

He’d parked behind the truck stop, out where the lot ended in a stretch of grass and a thicket of trees beyond the reach of the parking lot lights. As he drew closer to his truck, he spotted Cas leaning against the cab of a rig parked a few spots down, and bit the corner of his mouth to stop from smiling.

“You’re late,” he called, reaching his truck.

“Yeah, I know,” Cas said, walking over. “So much damn traffic around Sacramento.”

Dean fumbled with the keys to his truck, opening the cab door to throw his bag inside. “Thought you were going to leave me hanging.” 

“Never.” Cas glanced over his shoulder at the Love’s, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. The flickering yellow light from a nearby streetlight lit up his hair, made his eyes bright. 

Plucking at Cas’ sleeve, Dean headed around his truck, into the shade created by the trailer, and Cas followed. When Dean stepped forward, grabbing Cas’ jacket, Cas’ hands rose to his face, kissing him easily. 

When they broke apart, Cas grinned at him and Dean couldn’t help a smile.

The bed in the sleeper berth of Dean’s truck wasn’t made for two, but that didn’t stop them from climbing in. Dean pulled shut the curtain hiding the sleeper from the rest of the cab, and they lay there in the darkness, wandering hands, getting acquainted with each other’s bodies again.

#### 

Twelve weeks. Dean was impatient so it wasn’t long before he was pushing Cas on his back to get on top of him, Cas’ fingers on his cheek, soft moan as Dean deepened their kiss. 

Trying to get in a more comfortable position, Dean hit his elbow on the wall and broke their kiss with a swear. Cas laughed at him.

“Enough of this shit,” Dean grumbled, mouthing under Cas’ jaw. “We’re getting a motel room next time.” 

Next time? _Fuck._ His face reddened, realizing what he was implying. _Later, I’ll tell him later,_ he told himself.

Cas nodded, gripping at Dean’s shoulders, his back arching. “Maybe... maybe tomorrow.”

Dean raised himself up for a moment and caught the light in Cas’ eyes. “Tomorrow? Where you headed?”

“Salt Lake City.”

“Shit, that’s near where I’m going.” He stroked his thumb along Cas’ jaw. “Didn’t expect you to be on the West Coast. Thought you were up northeast.”

“Mhm.” Cas threaded his fingers along the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, and Dean kissed the corner of his mouth. “Was. Then I got this route.”

“You get any break?”

Cas shook his head, shifting so one of Dean’s legs lay between his, Dean’s thigh against his groin. “No. One day off in between. Rather—” He sucked in his breath as Dean started to move against him. “Rather be here anyway.”

Dean had to agree, but he didn’t say it, instead let himself get distracted by the way Cas was sliding his hands under his shirt.

Cas seemed nearly as impatient as he was, and neither of them were completely undressed by the time Dean was ducking his head to Cas’ shoulder, swearing at Cas’ hands on him. He wasn’t complaining though, wasn’t complaining at all when Cas stroked him through his orgasm, or when he got to see the way Cas’ eyes screwed up when he got him there, the way they fluttered open when he came down from his high, settling on Dean, a smile playing at his mouth.

Dean kissed him before getting off him and rolling over onto his back. “Fuck.” He let out a long exhale. “Been too long since we did this.” He caught himself from saying, “I missed it,” and flushed, hoped Cas hadn’t noticed.

“Mhm.” Cas leaned over the side of the bed, looking for something to clean himself off with.

 _Shit,_ ‘course Dean had to get all sappy and make it awkward. Cas probably hadn’t even noticed how long it’d been. 

“I missed it too,” Cas said, breaking into his thoughts, and Dean looked up at him. Oh. Well. Good to know he wasn’t the only one. 

“Guess you’re gonna be seeing more of me, now that we’re headed to the same place,” he said, throwing his discarded shirt to the side and kicking his jeans off all the way. He elbowed Cas, who smiled a little. “When’s the last time that happened, right? Ages.”

He wasn’t searching for an actual answer, but Cas grew serious, balling his shirt up in his hands and looking away. “I actually, uh. Well, my dispatcher didn’t just give me this job. I called in and asked if they had any routes West to East, any around California, since I knew you were headed here.”

“Oh. Shit.” So, Cas had given up his full break to pick up extra work, to see him. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Cas said quickly. His face was red. “Next time, maybe you can tell me in advance where you’re headed again? And I can try to get a similar route? ‘Stead of leaving it up to chance?”

“Yeah.” He felt guilty at that. _Next time._ Now was the perfect opportunity to tell Cas… but he kept silent. He’d tell him soon. Maybe not tonight.

“Or maybe we can…” Cas trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“No, nothing. Just glad it worked out this time.”

Dean nodded, then asked, “You staying?” He didn’t know why he bothered asking; Cas always stayed. 

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course not.” They got under the covers and Dean tapped the wall to his right. “Wish this bed was bigger. Why do they always have to be so damn narrow?” 

Cas shifted away and Dean couldn’t resist turning onto his side and wrapping an arm around him. “It’s fine.” 

His eyelids pulled with sleep as they lay there and talked, slow, quiet conversation, both drifting off. The lot had quieted down; no more trucks hissing to a stop or drivers yelling greetings. By this time, most drivers were probably bedding down. He and Cas were honestly lucky no one knew they hooked up with the amount of times they had done this. Why they kept it a secret, Dean wasn’t sure; it was just an unspoken agreement between him and Cas.

Maybe because they only hooked up in the odd times their routes crossed, no obligations. Nothing to talk about. Though, in the seven years he’d known Cas, their meetings seemed less like hookups now and more like reunions. Something he looked forward to and missed when they were apart. Maybe they still kept it a secret out of habit. He didn’t know when they’d become a sure thing. 

_A sure thing._ Until now, that is—but Dean pushed those thoughts aside. He had plenty of time to tell Cas; he was going to see him tomorrow.

“Headed in the same direction for once,” he commented. “You’re gonna get tired of me.”

“‘Spect so.”

Cracking open an eye, Dean saw Cas grinning and swatted his face. Cas knocked his hand aside.

“Don’t worry,” Dean said, closing his eyes again. “I’ll drive you crazy by the end of it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Dean smiled, though he felt a restless nervousness in his stomach. _All good things have to end sometime_ , he told himself, trying to push aside the disquiet.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_seven years ago_

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, peering through his windshield at the highway obscured by heavy snowfall. His headlights didn’t so much as illuminate the slick road as illuminate the sheet of snow that had been falling for the better part of an hour. 

He glanced at the map on his GPS screen. An exit coming up in five miles. He’d have to pull over.

“Fuck,” he said again, more forcefully. In better weather, he could’ve driven at least three more hours. His next drop-off was tomorrow afternoon and he prided himself on never being late. Calling his dispatcher and getting everything rescheduled was going to be a pain in the ass.

The sheen of an exit sign appeared all of sudden out of the gloom, and he pulled off onto the exit ramp, slowing down, scanning the side of the road for a place to park for the night. Even with the cabin heat on, he could feel a chill from the windows, could hear the wind rattling the trailer. Wasn’t gonna be an easy night of sleep.

A neon sign appeared in the dark and he squinted to read it through the falling snow.

_Willow Tree Inn. VACANCY._

“Got lucky tonight,” he said aloud, turning off the road into the parking lot. Three other rigs were parked at the back of the gravel lot, and he pulled in next to them. 

Pulling on his coat and getting out of the cab with his bag, he trudged through the layer of snow that had already accumulated underfoot. As he neared the main office door, however, the vacancy sign faltered, then turned off.

 _That can’t be good_ , he thought. A bell above the door jingled when he went inside, and a woman behind a desk and a man standing in front of it looked up at him. 

“Sorry, hun,” the clerk said. “Last room just got taken.”

“Really?” Dean asked. “You’re packed?”

She nodded, handing a room key to the man, who looked oddly familiar. “Everyone’s off the road with the storm.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. A phone rang and the woman excused herself, went into a room behind the desk. 

“I’m sorry,” the man said, fiddling with the key. He looked truly apologetic. “Not a great night to be stuck in the sleeper.”

“No, it ain’t.” Then he studied the man closer. A baseball cap, stubble, a backpack over one shoulder. “You a driver? One of those trucks out there yours?”

The man nodded. “Yes. I recognize you.” His face reddened slightly. “I saw you once, at a terminal. The one in Marshfield.”

It hit Dean then where he’d seen this man before. The attractive driver who’d passed him on I-70. Looked to be about his own age. Even more handsome up close. Eyes as blue as anything, even under the shade of his brim. 

Realizing he was staring, Dean broke his gaze. “Yeah, now that you mention it, you do look familiar.” He glanced back at the door and gestured to it. “Well, um. Back to the cold.”

The man stepped forward as if to stop him. “If you want, you can use the shower in my room, I don’t mind. If you want.”

Dean almost said no, but, shit, a warm shower would feel good, and this guy looked friendly enough. Not to mention Dean wasn’t so opposed to getting more acquainted. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“I’m Castiel, by the way,” the man said as they stepped into the cold and headed to a room a few doors down.

“Dean.”

Castiel unlocked the door and, stepping inside, flipped on a light switch. A tiny room: one queen-size bed and a table with a chair in the corner. Mild odor of mildew, which by motel standards was as good as it got.

Kicking off his boots, Dean stole another glance at Castiel, who set his backpack on the bed, pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his dark hair. He shouldn’t read more into this, right? _God_ , he wished he could read more into this. But it wasn’t like Castiel was offering to share the bed, just offering the shower. Probably only helping out a fellow driver. 

“You can take the shower first,” Castiel offered, rubbing his hands together from the cold. 

“Alright, thanks.”

The water was lukewarm at best, even when the handle was turned all the way to the left. Dean showered quickly, swore under his breath at having forgotten his towel in his truck, and gingerly used one of the ratty ones the motel provided. 

“Thanks again,” he said when he opened the door back into the main room.

Castiel looked up from a map he’d smoothed out on the bed. “No problem. Anytime.”

The wind howled outside, filling the awkward silence. _Right, say your goodbyes and leave,_ Dean told himself. “Um, I’ll get going. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Castiel nodded, standing, and Dean turned to the door, then paused as a thought struck him. 

“Hey, you eat yet?” he asked, turning back to him. Castiel shook his head. “I’ve got food in my truck, you want some?”

“I don’t wanna put you out—”

“Nah, it’s fine, ‘least I can do. I’ll go grab it.”

He returned with a six-pack of beer and the small slow cooker he kept stored in the sleeper. As he set the beer on the small table in the corner, which creaked under the weight, Castiel emerged from the bathroom, his hair even darker from a shower, a t-shirt and sweatpants on, his feet bare.

“Oh,” he said, stopping short. “You meant food, food.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, what’d you think I meant?”

Sitting down on the bed, Castiel pulled on a pair of socks. “I didn’t realize you had a warm meal. Were you cooking that in your truck?”

“Mhm. Someone finally convinced me to buy a slow cooker. Hate to say it, they were right, nice to have something other than fast food or diner food for dinner.” Castiel came over and Dean scooped chili into a bowl, handed it to him. “How long you been driving?”

“Two years.”

“Over the road?” Castiel nodded and sat on the bed, balancing the bowl on his knees. “You’ll learn all the tricks soon enough,” Dean said, sitting down on the only chair at the table. Reaching over, he pulled a beer from the pack, asked, “You want one?” Castiel nodded and Dean tossed him one, continued, “My uncle and dad both drove. Kinda natural that I fell into it too. How’d you get into it? Driving, I mean?”

Castiel shrugged. “Just needed work.”

“You like it?”

“I like it well enough.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, it ain’t half bad.” He gestured to the door, where wind whistled under the crack. “Except on nights like these. Hopefully it stops soon, hate to be stuck in the morning.”

“Where’re you headed?”

“Reno. Need to get there by the 14th.”

“Arkansas. Opposite direction.”

“Sure we’ll run into each other again on other routes, if you keep driving cross country.”

They ate dinner that way, easy conversation. It was warm, the heater beneath the windows humming, and even when he’d finished eating, Dean found himself staying in his seat instead of making his way back to his truck. Whether he was stalling because of the cold or something else, he didn’t want to analyze, just leaned back in his chair as they talked. 

He hoped he wasn’t overstaying his welcome, but Castiel didn’t seem annoyed. Setting his bowl down on the floor when he finished, he pulled on a sweatshirt from his bag— _Cambria Rowe_ written across the front, a Johnstown community college where his sister had taken business classes, Dean learned. His dad owned a car dealership—“Or, owned,” Castiel amended. “He passed a few years ago. My brother took over. Oldest brother. My sister works there too.”

“You didn’t want to?”

Castiel glanced at him, then nudged the bowl on the floor with his foot. “Um, no.” That seemed an uncomfortable topic. So, Dean found himself talking about Sam, because give him half a chance and he’d talk anyone’s ear off. Everyone always gibed him for bragging about his younger brother, but Sam was doing well, studying political science, interning at a lawyer firm. And Castiel didn’t seem to mind his rambling, kept asking questions, seemingly actually curious.

“You married?” Dean asked when the clock on the nightstand read 11:14 p.m., later than he’d expected. Fuck him if Castiel was, and he’d read too much into this.

But Castiel shook his head. “No. You?”

“No. Uh. Was.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It, uh, wasn’t exactly easy, being on the road so much.” Why was he sharing all that? Castiel didn’t need to know his personal business. It’d been five years since he and Lisa split. It was old news, tired news. 

But Castiel nodded quickly. “It isn’t easy,” he said. “I don’t think I realized it’d be like this. Even when I get time off, I’m too tired to do anything, and before I know it, I’m on another drive. Does it ever get easier?”

Dean shrugged. “Guess you get used to it. I’d rather be on the road now. I get home and it’s too quiet, too boring. More often than not I end up calling dispatch before my hometime is over and asking for work.”

“How long've you been driving?”

“Shit, uhh, seven years now, I think.”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Long time. I don’t think I could do that.”

“You get sucked into it. Before you know it, years have passed.” It was true, but all the same, it wasn’t the way he’d expected his life to go. Not that most things in his life had gone to plan.

It was somewhere along his third beer that something switched, their easy conversation trailing off. Dean glanced at the time. Already 1 a.m. Castiel looked down, fidgeted with his sweatshirt sleeve.

Clearing his throat, Dean straightened. “Pretty late, guess I’ll head out.” The wind hadn’t let up, but, standing to push aside the curtain a little, he saw the snow had stopped. 

Castiel stood to return his bowl. “Um. I don’t mean to imply anything—but, um, if you want...”

Dean waited and he finished in a rush, “If you wanna share the room, I don’t mind.” Dean looked over his shoulder at the one bed and Castiel flushed. “You don’t have to, just thought I’d offer.”

“Thanks, but…” Then he reconsidered and studied Castiel. 

_Don’t want to imply anything, my ass_ , he thought. Shrugging, trying to keep a grin off his face, he said, “Sure, if you’re offering.”

Castiel went into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and Dean gathered up his stuff for an early start the next morning, provided the snow didn’t start falling again. He’d get a good five hours of sleep if he went to bed now. Unless… He glanced up at the bathroom door. Unless Castiel had other plans.

 _I have to give it a try anyway_ , he thought, brushing his teeth in the sickly, yellow light of the bathroom. What was the worst that could happen? Castiel would kick him out and he’d sleep in his truck. It’s what he’d expected to do tonight anyway.

“You know, I saw you a few weeks ago,” he said, flicking the bathroom light off as he stepped back into the room.

Castiel looked up from piling extra pillows on the floor. “You did?”

“Yeah, I saw you on my last route. You passed me on I-70. Was kinda hoping we’d run into each other again.”

Castiel frowned. “I don’t remember.”

Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, Cas. You don’t remember?”

“I, no—”

“I’m joking, man, it was like half a second.” Too late, he realized he was admitting how absurd it was that he remembered Castiel’s face. Looking away, he pulled the covers out from where they were tucked into the headboard.

Apparently, Castiel wasn’t going to let him off that easy. “All it took was half a second to know you wanted to meet me?”

“I mean… yeah.” God, he was embarrassing himself. “Just, I’d never seen you before. Was just curious. I like knowing who I’m driving next to.”

“You were just curious.” Dean looked up. Castiel seemed to be hiding a smile. It was a good look, the way the corner of his mouth creeped up, and Dean started to feel more optimistic about his chances tonight.

“Yup, that’s it,” Dean deadpanned. “Curious. Nothing else.” 

Yeah, Castiel was definitely fighting back a smile, and losing the battle. Ducking his head, he pulled back the covers and got in bed, and Dean followed suit, taking care to knock his knee against Castiel’s leg under the covers.

“‘Course... I’m still curious,” he said, trying for nonchalant, leaning against the headboard. 

Castiel looked at him. “About?” His eyes fell to Dean’s mouth before reaching his eyes again.

“Just a few things,” Dean said, and then he was leaning in and Castiel was meeting him in the middle and they were kissing, Dean bringing one hand to Castiel’s cheek, his stubble rough under his palm.

By the time Castiel broke away to turn off the light, Dean was half-hard, and in the dark he lost no time in letting his hands roam, Castiel returning the favor, hastily kissing each other, finding each other’s mouths in the dark, the sheets whispering against their movements.

“Just to be—fuck, sorry—” Dean accidentally knocked his elbow against Castiel’s arm. “Just to be clear. You didn’t invite me to your room just to be nice, right?” Castiel’s hand slid up his thigh, found his ass. “This was always your end goal.”

“I _was_ trying to be nice,” Castiel protested, chasing Dean’s mouth. He nodded when Dean asked, “Can I?” and Dean fumbled to work a hand under his waistband. “But...” He guided Dean’s hand to his cock and let out a quiet groan when Dean wrapped his palm around his length. Dean grinned. “I guess I did want an excuse to get to know you better,” he finished, his voice strained.

Dean pulled back to meet his eyes in the faint light seeping through the curtains. “Exactly how much better?”

In response, Castiel snuck his own hand down Dean’s pants, and Dean didn’t think there needed to be any more words on the subject.

Spurred on by the way Castiel’s fingers worked on him, he reached his edge before long, finally giving in at the gasp Castiel made coming first in his fist, shuddering against him.

By the time they settled back down— for sleep this time—Dean figured getting stuck in the snow had been pretty well worth it.

“I can still sleep here, right?” he asked as Castiel set an alarm.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean.” Castiel laid back down and pulled the covers up. “I didn’t offer to let you sleep here just for sex. I was genuinely offering just to be nice.”

“Oh. Great. Good.”

They both lay there for a moment in silence, then Castiel spoke up, “You don’t have to feel obligated to stay, if you don’t want—”

“No, no, I’ll stay. Too cold to go out now.”

“Okay.”

While this wasn’t his first time hooking up with another driver, it was his first time sharing a bed with one of them. In all his years driving, he’d preferred to keep things as no strings attached as possible. But the wind was rattling the windows, and his limbs were sinking into the mattress, and what was the harm anyway?

It felt like no time had passed when the alarm rang at 6 a.m. They dressed quickly, headed out into the cold. The road had been plowed—not well, but enough, and the highways would be clear. Pausing in front of their trucks, Dean said, “Well, uh, thanks for letting me share the room.”

“Of course.” The wind pushed Castiel’s hair from his forehead. “Anytime. For any of it.”

Dean grinned. “See you around, Cas,” he said, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

“See you around.”

And that’s how it all began.


	2. Chapter 2

_**·** present day **·**_

When he was young, his mom always said, _don’t put off till tomorrow what you can do today_. She usually meant it along the lines of, _do your homework,_ or, _clean your room, so help me God—_ which meant a lot of grumbling on his end. 

But, Dean thought ruefully, staring up at the ceiling of the sleeper, she may have had a point.

Nearly three months ago, Bobby sat him down and told him he was retiring, that Singer’s Auto Shop would need a new owner. In his next breath, he’d said he wanted Dean to consider taking over. Dean had been driving for fourteen years and talking about quitting for more than half that long; it didn’t take much persuasion for him to agree.

And all this was fine and good, except for the fact that Dean was on his last drive now, one week left until he handed over the keys to his truck and settled down in Sioux Falls, and he was still trying to figure out how to break the news to Cas.

Cas, who was sleeping quiet right beside him. Turning his head on the pillow, Dean looked at him, his dark hair curling around one ear, the steady shift of the blankets over his shoulder, and felt not a little guilty for how, four days before, when Cas texted him and said he was headed to California, _can we meet up?_ , he’d almost said no. 

It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to see Cas; he just didn’t know how to tell him that he was quitting driving. More accurately, didn’t know how to tell Cas that he’d come to the decision weeks prior and Cas was one of the last to know.

 _I’m overthinking this_ , he told himself, looking back up at the ceiling. Faint light came through the small window above their heads, blinds pulled down. Sure, he and Cas had been hooking up for years now, anytime their routes neared each other, but that was it. Not like Dean had to give him advance notice that their infrequent meetups would be ending soon. Probably better to tell him now, instead of calling him up weeks earlier and making it sound like a bigger deal than it was.

 _It’s better this way_ , he thought, glancing at Cas again. All the same, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest. _Fuck_ , he’d missed this, being with Cas—he meant it, even if he hadn’t been able to say it last night. Was _going_ to miss this—but _don’t think that_ , he told himself.

He must’ve dozed off because suddenly he was startling awake at his alarm going off. Swearing, he leaned over Cas, fumbled for his phone, and managed to turn the blaring noise off. Dropping back down, he rubbed his hands over his face. Sounds of the parking lot coming to life carried from outside, muffled and distant.

“Time to get up,” he said, forcing himself to sit. 

Cas grunted, but made no indication of moving, and Dean nudged him. Blindly reaching out, Cas slid his hand over Dean’s thigh and Dean pushed his hand away. “Nope. I gotta reach my drop-off and we ain’t leaving anytime soon if you start that.”

Cas huffed, but pushed himself up onto his elbows, squinted at Dean. 

They dressed in the cramped space, and Dean grinned as Cas pulled on his jacket, his hair still disheveled, his expression disgruntled. Grabbing his elbow and turning him around to face him, he smoothed Cas’ hair and fixed the collar of his shirt. Sliding his hands down Cas’ arms, he kissed him when Cas tilted his face up.

“Alright,” Cas said after a long moment, pulling away. “Gotta go.”

Dean pulled aside the curtain and looked through the windshield at the dark parking lot. “All clear.” He opened the door and stepped aside for Cas. “See you tonight? Let me know where you stop.”

Cas nodded and stepped down to the asphalt. Dean watched him walk away before shutting the door and scrubbing a hand over his face. Grab a coffee, get on the road. He looked out the windshield again at the dark blue sky, stars fading, light creeping along the horizon, then snatched up his jacket and went out into the early morning.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Morning had turned into day into late afternoon before he stopped to fuel up and take a leak. The glare of the sun was making him sleepy, so he went inside the gas station, made his way to the coffee machines. 

As he poured himself a cup, he heard someone call his name, or close enough. “Hey, Deano!”

He didn’t look up from pouring sugar into his coffee. “Hey Meg.”

“Long time no see.” Meg leaned on the counter next to him. “Hey, I heard this is your last drive?”

“Heard right.” He gave her a grin though a sudden worry struck him that Cas might’ve heard the news today from another driver. 

“No way!” She hit him on the arm. “Thought driving was in your blood. What made you decide to quit?”

“Something better came up.” He threw the empty sugar packet into the trash. “Bobby’s retiring, so I’m taking over the shop.”

Meg raised an eyebrow. “Damn, I don’t believe it. How much you wanna bet that you’ll only last a month before you’re back on the road?”

Dean snorted. “Bobby’ll kill me if I up and ditch his shop.”

They headed outside and she asked, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

He eyed her. “Funny.”

“You mean that wasn’t you two getting handsy behind the rest stop the other day?”

He stopped and looked at her. “What?”

She broke into a grin, and he rolled his eyes, kept walking. “I’m joking. I find it kinda suspicious that you know exactly who I’m talking about, though.”

“Benny, right?” They reached his truck and he leaned on the door to the cab, drinking from the coffee cup.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Where is Clarence, though, seriously? Swore I saw him at the Love’s yesterday.”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Yeah, right. You guys are joined at the hip. If he’s in the area, you’d know.”

“Shit, Meg, if you wanna ask Cas out, just talk to him. Stop trying to go through me.”

“Who said anything about asking him out? Just looking to move some furniture around. How’d he take the news that you’re ditching him for some apple pie life?”

He wished he knew how Cas was gonna react. “I ain’t ditching him. He doesn’t care.”

“Hmm,” Meg said, like she wasn’t convinced. But she pulled her keys out of her pocket and started heading to her truck. “I’ll admit it, I’m gonna miss you,” she called. “Who else am I gonna team up with to play pool?”

“Ruby,” Dean called back. “Ya know, if the whole Cas thing doesn’t work out.”

She pointed at him. “You got a point there.”

Waving, she walked off to her truck, and Dean got back in the driver’s seat. Pulling out his phone, he saw a text from Cas. 

_Moonlight Motel. Room 11._

Smiling a little, he went to turn off his phone screen, then paused and scrolled up through the rest of their texts. All the same. Room numbers, motel names, truck stops. Long gaps between messages when they were across the country from each other. 

Sighing, he dropped his phone into the center console and twisted his key in the ignition. He had to tell Cas, tonight, that this was his last drive. The only thing worse than dropping the news on him now was him learning from someone else. Much as he wanted to believe what he’d told Meg—that Cas wouldn’t care one way or the other that he was quitting—he knew it wasn’t true. The only question was whether Cas would be hurt, surprised, angry, or a combination of the three.

 _Man up, Winchester,_ he told himself, checking his mirrors as he pulled out of the parking spot. Time to break the news.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Castiel felt restless as he hung up his jacket in the closet of the motel room. He was glad to see Dean, real glad. Catching sight of him in the Love’s the night before, he’d nearly started grinning. It was hard to gauge, really, whether Dean was as excited to see him too. He thought Dean had been glad to see him. 

Hoped so, because maybe that meant Dean would be receptive to the idea that had been bouncing around in his head for the past two months. Alright, for the past several months. Or maybe years. It was only recently, though, that he’d started to consider it seriously.

As he shut the closet door, a knock sounded on the door to the room. Opening it, he stepped back for Dean to enter with a six-pack and his duffel bag. 

“Hmm,” Dean said, looking around. “Not too shabby.”

“The sign out front said we even get color TV.” The door stuck and he had to force it shut with his shoulder in order to lock it. “Wonder of wonders.”

Dean laughed and set the six-pack on the nightstand by the bed. Standing by the door, Castiel watched him thumb through a brochure on the nightstand. As motel rooms went, Dean was right, this one wasn’t the worst of the lot. A heavily quilted bed, a box TV covered in too much dust, and heavy curtains over the window facing the road. 

“An ‘accurate Biblical Tabernacle Reproduction’ three miles from here,” Dean said, tossing the brochure aside. “Swear Lancaster had one of those too.”

“Think so.” He cleared his throat. “I think plenty of towns have them.”

Dean sat down on the bed, setting his duffel bag down by his feet. “So, what are we doing for dinner tonight? I’m running out of food, but I saw a pizza place down the road. Can get some delivered.”

“Sounds good.” He was going to have to bring up his idea eventually. He’d almost asked Dean yesterday, but hadn’t wanted Dean possibly saying no to mess up their first night together in a long time.

“You alright?” Dean asked and Castiel snapped his attention back to him.

“Uh, yeah.” He walked to the TV and picked up the channel guide, stared at it though he wasn’t really seeing the words written on the glossy pages. “Um, I was thinking.” Better to just say it now. It wasn’t such an absurd thought, Dean might have even considered it before. 

Dean looked up from untying his boots and Castiel continued, “I was talking to Tara, and, uh, she and Annie are team driving now. And it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. Splitting the driving, getting through jobs faster. And I thought, maybe we could do that. We could travel together, wouldn’t have to go weeks without seeing each other, that way.”

Dean pulled off one of his boots, not meeting his eyes. _Fuck_ , this was so much harder to say than he’d thought; it sounded ridiculous aloud.

“I mean, if that’s something you’d want to do,” he added. “Could try it, just once, just to see.”

Dean finally straightened and pushed his boots to the side. “Listen, that sounds great, really, and I would, but...”

 _But._ Of course. Castiel started nodding, trying to stop Dean from making up an excuse for not driving with him. 

But then Dean finished, “But, uh, I think I’m gonna quit driving.”

Freezing, Castiel stared at him. “What?”

“Yeah, um.” He glanced at Castiel, then away, rubbed the back of his neck. “Just think it might be about time. Bobby’s looking to retire, and he wants me to take over his shop.”

Dropping the channel guide onto the TV, Castiel tried to come up with a response, and Dean continued, “The timing’s right, and I’ve got experience, ya know, I’ve worked there on and off.”

He met his eyes and Castiel finally found his voice, said, “It sounds like you’ve already made your decision.”

“I mean, yeah, um. Well, this is… It’s all been arranged.” Leaning forward, he pulled a beer from the cardboard holder on the nightstand. “This is my last drive. I’m done in a week.”

“Your last… Just like that?”

“Been thinking about it for a while.” Dean opened the beer can. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Yeah, I know. But not recently. I didn’t think you’d do it.”

Dean paused in raising the beer to his mouth. “Why not?” he asked, his posture suddenly tense.

“Not any reason, I didn’t mean anything, I just meant…” Castiel crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well.” Settling back against the headboard, Dean took a drink and shrugged. “Figure now is as good a time as any.”

“That’s uh…” His head was reeling. So Dean was gonna quit. In a week. “That’s great.”

Dean eyed him, as if unsure whether he was being serious or not. “Yeah.”

“No, really.” Castiel took a deep breath. “That’s great. That’s, uh, good for you. You’ve been wanting to do something like this for a while, so good for you.”

Grabbing another beer, Dean held it out to him. “Sure you’ll quit soon enough. You’ve been wanting to just as long as I have.”

Stepping forward, Castiel took the can. “Yeah. I guess.”

“What? You change your mind?”

Castiel shrugged. “I might quit eventually. I don’t know. Would like to, but I don’t know what else I’d do.”

“Could still try the team driving. Sure someone else might be interested.”

Castiel nodded quickly. “Right.” He stared at the beer in his hand, rubbed at the logo with his thumb. “I kinda... I don’t know. There isn’t really anyone else I’d wanna drive with.”

Scratching at the stubble on his jaw, Dean nodded, looked away. “Right, yeah, uh, I know. Sorry, man—”

“No, I know,” Castiel said quickly. “If this is what you want, you gotta go for it. Don’t, don’t let me change your mind.”

Dean nodded again. “Right.” He grabbed a takeout menu on the nightstand and started flipping through it. “You wanna get food now? I’m starving.”

Sensing Dean didn’t want to talk about his quitting, Castiel didn’t bring it up again, and Dean seemed more than happy to do the same. They ate from the pizza box, TV playing in the background—it was indeed color, though after a minute of fiddling with the antenna, Castiel had given up trying to lose the static. 

Dean filled him in on the last two weeks he’d been driving, mainly uneventful except for a mom and pop’s joint he’d stopped at that had the best pie, he was convinced. Castiel half listened. Had he really thought… He and Dean hardly even talked outside of drives. Sure, they hooked up on every drive they could manage, had known each other for years now, but that didn’t mean Dean was looking to take it a step further, to start driving together. 

He couldn’t help feeling foolish, especially having admitted to picking up extra work to see Dean yesterday. But dammit, he was glad he had if this was gonna be Dean’s last drive. Which begged the question, why hadn’t Dean told him earlier?

“A week, you said?” he asked, as Dean stood to throw the pizza box away.

Dean glanced at him as he set the box on top of the too small garbage can. “Yeah. Hometime’s scheduled for the 20th.”

Trying for casual, not desperate, Castiel asked, “Do you think maybe we can meet up again, before then?”

“Yeah, we can try. Where you headed next?”

They compared routes, and found they’d both be traveling East on I-80 the next day, a lucky break. Inwardly, Castiel relaxed a little. He didn’t have to say goodbye just yet. No point in thinking ahead to when that time would come—though, in his experience, it always came too soon.

He wondered, undressing in the narrow bathroom as Dean fiddled with the shower knob, whether Dean felt the same insistent need when they were together to take advantage of every second. God knew they never got enough of this. Or, at least, it never felt enough to him. 

“Best it’s gonna get,” Dean said, testing the water. He flicked water at him and Castiel forced a smile, helped him out of his shirt. 

The bathroom tiles were cold under his feet and he shivered getting under the lukewarm, faltering spray. He and Dean fought over who got to use the soap first, ending in him halfheartedly trying to push Dean off as Dean pinned him to the wall and mouthed under his jaw.

“I let you win,” he said, shuddering a little when Dean bit lightly at his neck. He couldn't help hope that Dean would leave a mark. Dean laughed against his collarbone.

By the time they actually got around to showering, he was half-hard and Dean wasn’t helping any. As he soaped himself up, Dean hugged him from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder. Leaning back against Dean’s chest, he watched as Dean slipped his hand down his stomach to his cock, began to stroke him.

Gripping Dean’s arm, he let his head fall back. Dean’s hardness pressed against his ass, and before the heat building in his gut grew too strong, he stopped Dean’s hand, said, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Dean nodded against his shoulder, then pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck, and Castiel’s face reddened. He hoped Dean wasn’t pitying him, didn’t think he was foolish for suggesting they turn their arrangement into more, for his shock at realizing it could end so soon.

They hurried through their showers, drying themselves off perfunctorily. Dean rubbed a towel through Castiel’s hair, mussing it, and grinned when Castiel knocked his hand away and tried to smooth it.

On the bed, Dean opened him up, kissing him through it, and Castiel clung to him, Dean’s wet hair cold against his hands. He tried to forget that this was Dean’s last drive. 

No rush as Dean crooked his fingers, kissed him slow and deep. He loved the friction of Dean’s skin against his, the scrape of Dean’s stubble against his neck, loved the way Dean touched him, everywhere, frankly. There wasn’t any hesitation in it anymore, not like when they'd first met. He didn’t want to lose this. 

Eventually, too soon, they untangled themselves. Sitting back back on his knees, Dean stroked himself as Castiel slipped a pillow under his ass, positioned himself. “Come on,” he said, holding his arms out, gesturing to Dean, feeling breathless. 

Propping himself over him, Dean eased into him, and Castiel swore under his breath, fingers digging into Dean's arm. Dean caught his eye, and Castiel nodded, shifted under him, managed, “Good, go.”

Dean grinned. “What’s that?”

“Just,” he squeezed Dean’s hips with his thighs, “fuck me.”

Arms braced on the bed, Dean started rocking into him, and Castiel lost the ability to speak, to think, for a moment. He gripped Dean's arms, his hips, whatever skin he could reach, feeling too far away from him suddenly, needing Dean pressed against every inch of him.

Distracting himself from the feeling, he slipped a hand between them and began to pump himself. He didn’t want to come too soon, not with the sounds Dean was making, not with the ache building deep inside him, not when it’d been so long. They hadn’t had enough time when they saw each other last, hadn’t had time to take it slow, not in a long time. He wanted to watch the way a flush grew across Dean's chest, wanted to make Dean duck his head with a groan and lose his rhythm when he squeezed tight around him, draw Dean's attention by stroking his fist slow over his own length, watch a droplet of water slip from a strand of Dean's hair down his neck.

He had to notice it all, sear it all into his mind because who knew how long it'd be before he got this again. He fell apart, though, when Dean quickened his pace. Sounds of skin against skin, his skin heating, heat burning him from the inside out. Dean bit his tongue in concentration, eyes flicking between where their bodies met and Castiel's gaze.

“Dean,” Castiel managed, “I’m gonna, Dean, Dean—” He screwed up his eyes, as, with a few hard thrusts from Dean, he came between them _.  _

“Fuck,” Dean groaned.

"Oh, God, shit," Castiel panted, his head spinning. He stripped his cock, trying to draw out his orgasm, muscles clenching.

Dropping his head back on the pillow, he tried to catch his breath, legs trembling with his aftershocks. “Shit, dammit, Dean,” he gasped as Dean kept fucking him.

“Can we—fuck—” Breathing hard, Dean slowed his pace, stopped. “Change positions?”

Castiel swallowed hard, nodding. He winced as Dean pulled out.

“Good?” Dean asked, and he nodded again. Grabbing Dean’s arm, he tugged him down to kiss him. 

Dean indulged him, and Castiel wrapped his arms around his neck, deepened their kiss. Framing his body, Dean twisted his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his cock hard against Castiel’s stomach. When Castiel shifted against him, Dean’s cock twitched and he tried to pull away. 

“Mm-mm.” Castiel tried to drag him back down, but Dean pushed himself up. 

“Fuck, I gotta—” He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, and Castiel turned over onto his stomach. Then Dean was fucking him again, and Castiel felt dizzy with it. He gripped at the pillow half under his head, felt both worn out and wound up too tight.

“Almost,” Dean managed. “So good, Cas, so good,” under his breath and Castiel’s face flushed, then, “Fuck, fu—” His hips stuttered and he jerked with a grunt as he came, and Castiel hated that he couldn’t see. 

When Dean stilled inside him and pulled out with a quiet groan, Castiel reached back and pulled at him. Dean lay down on him, weight pressing him into the mattress, mouth hot against his skin.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, then let out a laugh. He kissed Castiel’s back, and Castiel tried to smile, but his heart was sinking faster than his body temperature.

They lay there for a few minutes, heartbeats slowing, then Dean pushed himself up. He threw away the condom, and Castiel pushed himself over onto his back, stared up at the ceiling. Dean collapsed back down next to him with a sigh, the bed creaking. Castiel’s skin was cooling, but his heartbeat had quickened again. Through the walls, he could hear a TV playing in another room, muffled music and laughter.

Though he hated himself for it, he blurted out, “You really gonna quit?

Dean didn’t answer for a long moment, then, muffled in his pillow, “Yeah.”

Castiel twisted his fingers together over his chest. He knew he should shut up, go clean himself off, leave it be. Still, he pressed, “In a week, though? So soon?”

Dean didn't answer. From outside came the rumble of a car's engine, voices calling and a door shutting. Dean pushed himself up to sit, sheets rustling. When Castiel looked at him, he shrugged. “Long time coming.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Can we not talk about it now?”

Castiel felt his face warm. “Okay.”

When he cleaned up and crawled back into bed, Dean was on his phone. “Sam texted me,” he said, looking up as Castiel slipped under the covers. “Sent me a photo of Jack on his first field trip.”

“Really?” Castiel leaned over to see the photo of Jack in a school uniform, wearing a backpack nearly as big as he was. “Crazy. I remember you showing me a photo right after he was born.”

“Time flies.” Dean tossed his phone onto the nightstand. “Can I turn off the light?” Castiel nodded and, leaning over, Dean turned off the lamp. The blankets rustled as he settled down. “You hear anything recently from your siblings?”

“No.” Castiel fluffed up his pillow. “Last I heard was Anna got divorced and Michael’s still running the dealership, according to Gabe. I don’t know what Gabe’s doing. I didn’t ask the last time he called me.”

“He called you?”

Castiel sighed. “Yeah, to ask for money.”

“Oh. Where’s he at now?”

“Somewhere near LA.” Shifting closer, he draped an arm over Dean’s stomach and Dean rolled over onto his side, pulling Castiel’s arm tighter around him so Castiel’s chest was flush against his back. 

Castiel’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Outline of windows, of a door. Dean’s hand was warm wrapped around his wrist.

“You’re lucky that you have Sam,” he said. “That’s really great, that you’ll be living close to him now.” _That’s great, that’s good._ He couldn’t come up with any other words, couldn’t make them sound convincing enough.

“Yeah.” Dean’s thumb moved over the back of his hand. “I’m, uh, I’m excited about it.”

He didn’t sound very convincing either, but maybe he was just tired and Castiel was projecting. 

He could tell by the sound of Dean’s breathing that he was drifting off. Shutting his eyes, he tried to be happy for him. More accurately, he tried to stop pitying himself. Maybe Dean would change his mind; maybe he wouldn’t really quit. But the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it worried Castiel, worried him that Dean had decided to quit, to end this, a long time ago, had just never thought enough of him to tell him.

  
  


**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_six years ago_

_Fuck,_ he was tired. Taking another drag from his cigarette, Castiel tilted his head back and looked up. Orange haze from nearby streetlights, then the wide, dark expanse of the sky, pierced by faint pinpricks of stars and sliced with a sliver of the moon.

Trucks whizzed past on the highway a few yards away, and Castiel leaned back against the brick wall of the motel he’d stopped at for the night. He’d been trying to quit smoking for some time now, but he’d picked up the habit years ago in high school and couldn’t drop it. He looked down at the cigarette in his fingers and wondered if Anna had been right. 

She’d called him today, out of the blue, while he was driving. He hadn’t recognized the number when he answered the call, and it had taken him a few seconds to realize who was speaking. Anna sounded tired. 

She’d asked how he was, answered in response to his _and you?_ that she was busy, real busy. “I heard you’re driving,” she said and he wondered for a moment how she knew.

“Yes.” He didn’t mention that he’d been driving for three years now. “Gabe told you?” He’d spoken to Gabe a few months ago, another rare call.

“Yeah, Gabe. He called me, fuck... last week, I think. Keeps saying he’ll visit, but he’s not going to. Probably better, nothing for him here.”

Castiel nodded though he knew Anna couldn’t see him. Gabe had left home a few years after their mom died, when Castiel was around twelve. He didn’t know why his family splintered so easily, all of them finding their own ways to distance themselves from each other. Maybe the way their dad had raised them—too tightly, so they felt trapped. He’d felt trapped, at least.

“You’re alright?” Anna asked after several drawn out seconds of silence. “You’re doing okay?”

“Yes,” he told her. It was true enough—he had steady work, tiring work, but one with a decent paycheck, and he didn’t have any friends, but if he did, he wouldn’t have much time to see them so maybe it was all for the best, and he hadn’t gotten laid in months, could fit everything he owned into one duffel bag, hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in god knew how long, and—but Anna didn’t need to know all that. “I’m… I’m good.”

“Good,” she said, sounding relieved. “Good.” They’d ended the call soon after that. He heard a child’s voice in the background, but didn’t get to ask what the kid’s name was. 

Maybe Anna had been right, when she gave him two week’s worth of her paycheck from working at the Discount Groceries thirty minutes down the road. She’d handed over several bills crisp from the ATM and told him, “It’s alright, if it doesn’t work out. If you need to come back in a few months.”

Her words had rung in his ears as he took a bus to Pittsburgh where a cousin had an apartment where he could crash. Echoed while he bussed tables at a 24-hour diner and tried to save up money for a car, for an apartment of his own. 

While she’d meant them kindly, they only motivated him to stay away. He wouldn’t fail; he wouldn’t slink back home with his tail between his legs. And he hadn’t.

Sometimes, though, he'd thought about returning home. Sometimes he still thought about it. He’d never really been happy back there, but at least it was familiar. Familiar faces, storefronts, trees in their backyard. No constants in his life now—always new faces, always changing scenery. 

He was stubborn though; he’d be damned if he returned home. It was like Anna had said about Gabe: there was nothing for him there.

He took another drag from his cigarette as a truck pulled into the motel lot, engine rumbling. The brakes hissed as it parked, engine clicking as it shut off, then a door slammed and Castiel glanced over to see someone walking to the motel office.

Something seemed vaguely familiar about the man’s walk and, as he neared, Castiel realized it was Dean, the driver he’d shared a room with outside of Kansas City. He hadn’t seen him since then, nearly three months ago, and though he stepped out a little from the wall, he hesitated to say hello, unsure if Dean remembered him, or wanted to.

But then Dean noticed him, and he smiled. “Hey, Cas.”

 _Cas._ It hadn’t been lost on him that Dean had given him a nickname the night they met. A little flustered, he managed, “Dean.” 

“So, we run into each other again,” Dean said, coming over to the shaded place where Castiel stood. So, he _was_ just as attractive as Castiel remembered. He couldn’t stop the flush spreading through his body remembering everything else. Dean nodded at the motel. “You getting a room?”

“Yes.” He shifted, cleared his throat. “Already got one. Decided to stop early for the night.” 

“Smart move. Wish I could’ve stopped earlier, but some asshole shippers thought it’d be funny to take two hours to load my truck this morning, set me back for the day.” 

He leaned on the wall next to him, and Castiel motioned with his cigarette. “Do you want one?”

“Nah, I quit.” Dean nudged him with his elbow, sending a shiver down his spine. “So, what’s new?” 

“Not much.” Then he remembered, “I, uh, I met your dad on a drive a few weeks ago.” Dean frowned and he added, “Bobby Singer?”

Dean laughed. “No, he ain’t my dad. Well, for all intents and purposes, yeah. But he’s my uncle.”

“Oh. You two are close then.” Bobby had called Dean his boy, had talked about taking Dean on drives when he was young, had told him about Dean graduating high school and immediately getting a job as a driver to send Sam to college.

“Yeah, practically raised me and Sam. Good guy. Probably talked your ear off.”

Castiel smiled. “He was nice. Spoke very highly of you.”

“Oh, brother.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish motion that Castiel found endearing. “I don’t wanna know what he said.”

“Only good things, honest.”

“Yeah, sure.” He crossed his arms and smiled a little. “Back when I started driving, I was Singer’s nephew, that’s all anyone knew me by. You, uh, if you ask around, you might hear about my dad, John Winchester.”

“He still around?”

“No, he passed about… Shit, ten years ago? Eleven now? Liver cancer.”

“Sorry.”

Dean acknowledged it with a shrug. “Wasn’t close to him. Never let on that we were related. Didn’t want to be known as John’s kid.”

“I take it he wasn’t like Bobby?”

Dean snorted. “Nope. Just a mean, nasty drunk.” He grinned. “Not that Bobby can’t get like that sometimes. But no, not like John.” He nodded at the trucks parked in the lot. “Still driving over the road?”

Castiel nodded. “You were right, it does suck you in.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, this is my second drive in a row, only a day off in between. After this one, I’ll have a week and a half off. Think I’ll go visit my brother.”

“He’s in school, right? Wants to be a lawyer?”

“Damn, you remember?” He actually looked impressed and Castiel felt his face warm. “Yeah. He, uh, he actually just graduated undergrad. Kinda crazy. First Winchester to go on to law school.” He looked at Castiel. “You got a few siblings, right?”

Castiel nodded, putting out his cigarette on the brick wall. “My sister Anna actually just called me.”

“You close with her?”

“Not really. I’m kinda… estranged from my family.” Dean watched him expectantly, and he explained, “I moved out when I was seventeen, we haven’t kept in touch much.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. Anna and Gabe—that’s one of my brothers—they call sometimes. Gotten easier since my dad passed. He, uh… he was the main reason I left.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Difference of opinions.” He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, then glanced at Dean. Dean had probably already guessed, no point in hiding it. “I came out. In high school. Dad wasn’t too happy about it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Long time ago. Or, you know, long enough.”

Dean nodded. At least he didn’t seem about to flee. Castiel had been more than a little worried that maybe Dean was just a straight guy messing around and that he wouldn’t ever speak to him again after what happened the night they met.

A truck pulled into the lot, the sound of tires crunching on asphalt. Dean straightened off the wall, glanced out at the parking lot. 

“Where’re you driving to?” Castiel asked, hoping to keep him there.

“West Virginia. You?”

“Opposite direction.”

Dean nodded. “Same as last time.”

“Right.” Castiel looked down, scuffing the pavement with his heel. _Last time._

From around the corner came the faint jingling of a bell as the door to the motel office opened. “What room are you in?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked up and tried to hide his smile. “Why, they all booked again?”

“Nah. I mean, they might be.” He glanced out at the lot again, then took a step closer, and Castiel straightened, the brick wall scraping rough against his jacket. “Haven’t checked. Maybe I should bunk up with you again, just in case.”

“Right, in case.” Dean leaned a hand on the wall, framing him in on one side, and Castiel’s heartbeat kicked into high gear. “We can split the room, save some money.”

“Have to share the bed, though," Dean said.

“Shame.” Almost of their own accord, his hands came up to Dean’s waist. The corners of Dean’s eyes crinkled, giving away the smile he was trying to hide, and now Castiel was staring at his mouth. He shifted forward, almost without noticing. “But I don’t really mind,” he said.

“I don’t really mind either,” Dean said, leaning in, and Castiel's eyes fell shut as he kissed him.


	3. Chapter 3

_**·** present day **·** _

As he drove, Castiel ran over his route in his head. He’d risen early that morning, said goodbye to Dean, hit the road. He had to reach Denver, Colorado by 7 p.m. that evening to deliver the trailer he was pulling, then pick up another load and find out where he was headed next. He might not have to continue driving until the morning, though, if this next load wasn’t ready to be picked up until tomorrow. While he usually hated delays, he hoped he’d get to stay the night in Denver, maybe even get to see Dean again, depending on where Dean stopped for the night.

He had been trying very hard today to not think about the fact that this was Dean’s last drive. Or the fact that Dean hadn’t told him until now, until the last possible moment, really.

Dean sure didn’t seem very bothered by the fact that this was the last time they’d ever get to meet up on drives. Almost too nonchalant. But what was Castiel expecting? It was his own fault for getting so attached, for thinking maybe his and Dean’s infrequent meetings meant as much to Dean as they did to him.

In his rearview mirror, he saw a car speed up to pass him in the left lane. And, besides, Dean quitting didn’t mean they’d never see each other again. But it wouldn’t be the same, he knew. He’d gotten too used to this, too used to listening for Dean’s voice on the radio, searching for his face at truck stops. He’d just have to get used to how it used to be, before Dean. Before he found someone for the first time in a long time that he could talk to, really talk to, that he could always count on being around—if not on every drive, then on enough. It was never fully satisfying, always too little, too few and far between, but it was better than nothing. He’d just have to get used to not even having that little bit.

A car approached on his right in the merge lane, then Castiel was yanked from his thoughts, instinctively hitting the brakes as the car on his left swung into the right lane, too fast. Red brake lights flashed, a screech of metal, and the cars in front of him collided.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

The sun glinted in Dean’s side mirror, piercing bright as it hung low in the sky. Rolling his shoulders, he glanced at the time. 4:12 p.m. Around 10 a.m., he’d dropped off his trailer, picked up a new one, and gotten back on the road. Still a few hours before he’d stop for the night.

Cas had left their motel room early that morning with hardly a word—which wasn’t very out of the ordinary since Cas wasn’t much of a morning person, at least before he got coffee in him—but there had been something unspoken in the air, something tense, something residual from the night before. 

Maybe he was only imagining it; Cas had said, after all, that he was happy for him. The thing was, Dean had been so focused on telling Cas that he was quitting, that he forgot to wonder about what followed next. So, he might see Cas again tonight. And then, what? Say goodbye? For how long?

All he knew was that quitting meant change; what things would look like between him and Cas now, he didn’t know.

His CB radio crackled to life, but he got distracted by “We Built This City” starting to play on the radio. “Hell, no,” he muttered, turning the dial to another station. Then he caught the words coming out of the radio.

“There’s an accident near Exit 187. Got caught in the middle of it.”

Dean leaned forward, snatched up the radio. That had been Cas’ voice. Someone got on before he could, asked how bad it was. 

“Two car pileup,” Cas said. “They’re clearing the road now.”

“You alright?” Releasing the button, Dean waited, heart thumping. 

Then came the reply, “Yeah, the trailer’s fine, I’m fine, just shook up.”

Dean waited as someone hopped on and asked Cas to say again where the accident had occurred. Cas said he was at a pull-off area past the 190 mile marker and Dean said, “I’m headed that way, probably pass you soon. Over.”

Hooking the radio back onto its clip, he watched for the mile markers, tried to see if he could spot the accident in the distance. Flashing lights on cop cars signaled he was drawing near, and traffic slowed to a crawl as the two lane highway narrowed to one lane to accommodate the clean up crew. Two cars sat in the right lane, metal twisted into each other. 

Dean had seen his fair share of accidents—been lucky enough to never be involved in one—but, still, seeing one never got any easier. He’d heard too many accident horror stories from other drivers, and even knowing Cas had escaped this one unharmed didn’t make it easier to look at the wreckage. 

A few miles past the accident, Dean caught sight of Cas’ truck ahead and eased off the road into the pull-off behind him. Cars and trucks whizzed by as he got out, slamming the door shut behind him. Cas dropped down from the cab when he approached. 

“Hey,” Dean called. “What happened?”

“Car got rear-ended while trying to merge. Right in front of me, I had to swerve into the other lane, thank god there was no one right behind me—” He crossed his arms and Dean realized his hands were shaking. “There were kids in the car, Dean,” he said. 

Dean motioned to him and they walked around his truck. In the shade of the trailer, shielded from the road, the sounds of the highway lessened, the trailer rattling with each gust of wind kicked up by passing cars. Cas shook his head. “Two kids and their mom. Other car only had one passenger, I think.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“An ambulance came. Someone got taken away on a stretcher—the mom, I think.” His fingers twitched into fists. “I came so close to hitting them, if I hadn’t seen and pulled into the other lane—”

“Hey, hey.” Dean touched his shoulder. “It’s alright. Don’t think about it, you didn’t hit anyone, it’s alright.”

Cas nodded, and Dean hesitated for a second before stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. Immediately, Cas’ arms came up around him, holding tightly to him. 

Dean could feel Cas taking a shaky breath and held him onto him longer. He tried not to think about it usually, how dangerous this job could be, but sometimes the fact rose up in front of him, unavoidable. He kissed the top of Cas’ head, then felt stupid for doing so, and let go.

Stepping back, Cas let out a heavy exhale. “Fuck,” he said. “That’s the stuff, that’s what makes me wanna quit. I would’ve never been able to live with myself.”

“It’s alright, you did the right thing, you didn’t hurt anyone.” He patted the side of Cas’ face, drawing Cas’ eyes to his. “You good?”

“Yes. Thanks for stopping.”

Dean dropped his hand. “Ain’t no thing. You good to keep driving?” Castiel nodded and he said, “You gotta jump right back into it, can’t wait. Don’t psych yourself out.”

Cas took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.”

He didn’t move, though, and Dean said, “Get on your phone, I’ll call you.”

“What?”

“‘Stead of the radio, we’ll talk while you drive, keep your mind off it.”

Cas studied him, then nodded. “Okay.”

Back in the cab, Dean called Cas and hit the speakerphone button, set his phone in the center console. They’d used the radio to talk before, keep each other company on long drives when they happened to be near each other, but he didn’t want to crowd the channel now, not when he knew others were listening.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas answered the phone.

“You know it’s me,” Dean teased, “You don’t gotta be so formal.”

“Right, yeah, hi.”

He watched Cas merge out of the pull-off area and followed. “So, I’m officially out of food,” he said. “Looks like it’s gonna be a diner meal tonight.”

“Tragedy,” Cas deadpanned.

“Don’t know how you can always eat that shit every day. You don’t ever get tired of it?”

“It’s good food. It’s called comfort food for a reason.”

Reaching 62mph, Dean turned on cruise control. “Yeah, well, it is, but Sam said if I died from high cholesterol he’d kill me.”

Cas’ laugh came clear and bright over the phone and Dean grinned. “That seems counterproductive.”

“Tell him that.”

Sunlight glinted off the metal locks on the trailer Cas was pulling. It was strange, driving behind Cas like this. Usually they passed each other in a blur on opposite sides of wide highways. 

Trying to find something to talk about, Dean settled on the subject he knew both he and Cas were avoiding. But no use in pretending it wasn’t gonna happen. “Sam called me today. Said him and Eileen and the kid are gonna visit when I get back to Bobby’s place.”

“Guess you’re gonna see a lot more of them now.”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice getting to see the kid grow up. Think Sam’s the most excited about me settling down.”

“I’m sure he misses you.”

“Probably gotten used to me being gone all the time by now, I hope. Been driving long enough. I’m gonna have to get used to staying in one place for longer than a week and a half.”

“That would feel strange,” Cas mused. “I don’t know where I’d settle down if I did decide to quit.” The line was quiet for a moment before he continued, “But I’d like to have a home base that’s mine, you know? ‘Stead of carrying everything I own from truck to truck.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He was lucky Bobby let him crash at his place during his hometime. Even if he was sharing the house with the ornery bastard, at least he had his own room, a kitchen, familiar spaces. Cas jumped from motel to motel on his time off. Couldn’t be easy.

His eyes traveled from the road to the distant, low mountain ridges that lined the horizon. Big, fluffy clouds bunched high above in the light blue sky slowly turning orange and pink. He wondered if he should start apartment hunting, find a place near the shop, maybe in downtown Sioux Falls. Sounded kinda lonely, though, to live somewhere by himself.

“Why—” Cas paused, and something in his silence made Dean listen carefully, suddenly tense. “When were you going to tell me? That you were gonna quit?”

Trying to keep his tone light, feeling his stomach turn, Dean answered, “I was going to tell you the next time I saw you in person, now.”

“How long have you known?” Dean started to answer, and Cas cut him off, “I mean, made your decision, not just talking about it like you always have.”

Dammit, Cas sounded like his feelings were actually hurt. “I don’t know, man. A few weeks ago, I guess.” Longer than that, nearly three months now.

“Did you... did you already tell everyone else?”

 _Fuck me_ , Dean thought. Who was everyone else? Did Cas have a ranking of everyone who should’ve been after him on the list of who to tell? 

Fighting to keep his tone casual, he answered, “I’ve told a few people. Guess the word will spread.” He checked his mirrors, added, “I never had a chance to tell you, man—"

“Is that why you called out, of the blue, that one night? Were you going to tell me then?”

Dean clenched his jaw. He'd hoped Cas had forgotten that call. He didn’t know what he’d meant to tell him then, a week after Bobby announced his retirement, when the possibility of quitting loomed over him. His head hadn’t been in the right place, and it’d been stupid to call and ramble about nothing at all. He remembered one part of his brain telling him to just say it, _I think I’m gonna quit_ , another telling him it wouldn’t matter if he told Cas then or later, back and forth.

“I wasn’t gonna tell you then,” he lied, because Cas didn’t need to know all that, didn’t need to know that it took a few drinks to work up the courage to call. “I hadn't made my decision yet." That was semi-true; though he'd told Bobby he'd think about it, he'd known what he'd decide. "'Sides, I wanted to wait until I saw you in person. Wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He winced a little; that was the wrong thing to say.

Predictably, Cas didn’t let it slide by. “How’d you think I’d react?”

“I don’t know.” That was truth, and that’s what had scared him. Would Cas get angry? Or would Cas not care? Which would be worse to hear?

Cas stayed silent and Dean tried, “I know it’s real sudden, but everything happened so fast.” When Cas still didn’t speak, Dean sighed, bit at the skin around his thumbnail. “Come on, talk to me, man.”

“What there’s to say? You’re quitting, that’s all there is to it." In Dean's mind, he saw how Cas looked, the determined way he was staring out the windshield, his jaw tight. He didn’t expect Cas to add, “Guess it's none of my business anyway. I’m happy for you. Really.”

Instead of relief, Dean only felt guiltier. _He's right,_ he told himself. _It's none of his business._ This was Dean's life, his decision—didn't matter what Cas thought or said about it. Still, he couldn't help feel guilty at how hard Cas was trying to say the right thing, to appease him. Worse still, he knew Cas really meant it, wasn't lying to him. Always was so earnest. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“Kinda wish…” Cas trailed off. Someone hopped on channel 19, and Dean heard the echo on Cas’ end. “Kinda wish you’d told me earlier. Never woulda suggested teaming up on drives, if I knew.”

 _Fuck_ , Cas really was gonna push the issue, wasn’t he? Despite his best efforts not to, Dean was starting to get annoyed. 

_This is how it is_ , he wanted to say. _Whether I told you three months ago or today, doesn’t matter._

“Yeah, well. Sorry.” Then, unable to resist, he added, “But, listen, the, uh, the team driving? Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered you’d wanna do something like that, but trust me, I would've driven you crazy. Never woulda worked."

“That’s not true.”

“Think it is." Dean glanced to his left where a car was trying to pass him, suddenly disappearing into his blind spot. "Kinda surprised you're still putting up with me after all these years.”

Over the line, the tinny whir of the road passing under the wheel’s of Cas’ truck. "I wish you wouldn't say that."

Dean didn't know how to answer. His thumb started bleeding from where he picked at the skin and he sucked at the cut. They passed a sign for Exit 313. Sixty miles ahead. He’d driven enough miles today, was still on track to reach Omaha by the 16th. He could get off I-80 with Cas, stop in maybe Fort Collins for the night.

One more night together. Six days until he quit. And then... he didn't know what would happen to them then. He'd never had to wonder before.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_five years ago_

It was late, and Dean was pretending to be more drunk than he really was to win another game of pool and a decent sized bet. The man he was playing against—Cole, Dean thought he’d heard—glowered at him over the table when Dean sunk the 8-ball. 

“Pay up,” Dean said, grinning as he straightened. Cole threw a few bills on the table, muttering something under his breath, and Dean called, “Good game,” after him as he stomped off to the bar.

Racking his cue stick, Dean scanned the room and debated staying longer. Delays and changes to his schedule meant he had time to kill before his next shipment was ready to pick up. Sucked; he’d rather be driving making real money than hanging around truck stops and lousy bars. 

Cole was at the bar, talking to someone hunched over a drink, and Dean figured he’d done enough for tonight, time to get some sleep and hopefully be on the road before noon the next day. Or, today, he realized, looking down at his watch and realizing it was past midnight. 

Pushing open the doors to outside, he fumbled to find his keys in his jacket pocket. Several trucks were parked at the back of the gravel lot, and Dean had almost reached his when he heard someone call “Hey!” behind him. 

Turning, he saw Cole and the other man from the bar headed over, expressions determined. 

_Shit._

“Listen, fellas.” Dean raised his hands as they approached. “Cole, right? Don’t be a sore loser, man.”

Cole stopped a few feet from him, shadows lining his face. “Give me back my money.”

“Can’t. It's mine now. Won it fair and square.” He took a slow step back. _Fuck me._ ‘Course he had to pick an asshole to play against. "Whaddya say we pick this up in the morning? Kinda late, kinda just wanna hit the hay in peace.”

Cole and his friend glanced at each other. Then, without warning, Cole lunged at him, shoving him backward against his truck’s trailer. 

_No such luck,_ Dean thought, catching himself from falling. Before Cole could make another move, he swung at him. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw, then the second man, who’d been hanging back, grabbed him, pulling his arm back.

“Fuck,” Dean managed, trying to shove him off. He ducked when Cole swung at him, and kicked the second man, freeing himself. Before he could move, though, he caught a fist to the face. 

Cracking pain whited out his vision and he stumbled back, eyes tearing up automatically. Distantly, he registered someone yelling, “Hey! Get away from him!” and managed to duck another punch before throwing one at the second man.

Someone ran over because apparently it was a party now, and Dean did a double take, then caught a fist to the stomach and doubled over with a grunt. 

Sounds of a scuffle and someone getting hit with a punch—Cole, by the stream of curse words. Thankfully, it seemed now that Cole and his friend were matched two for two, they lost their resolve. They ran off, cursing out Dean and his savior.

“Fuck you!” Dean called, still trying to catch his breath, hands on his knees. He felt someone touch his shoulder and looked up to see familiar blue eyes. 

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“Cas?” Dean let out a laugh that hurt a little too much. “Always knew I liked you.”

“You’re bleeding,” Cas said, unhelpfully. 

Straightening up with a wince, Dean wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, then regretted doing so at the twinge of pain. “Fuck.” 

“Is it broken?” Cas asked.

Gingerly, Dean pinched his nose to stop the bleeding and shook his head. “Don’t think so.” He looked down at his free hand, his knuckles red from landing a punch.

“What happened?” Cas glanced over his shoulder at where the two assholes had run off. “Why were they trying to beat you up?” 

“One of ‘em lost a bet at pool.” Grinning, he patted his jacket pocket holding his wallet. “Wanted his money back, but I told him no way.”

“Dean,” Cas said, disapprovingly. “You should’ve just given him the money.”

“It’s mine, ain’t it? I won.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” A smile tugged at his mouth.

“It’s been said.” Unlocking his cab door, he leaned inside to grab a napkin and wiped at the blood on his face and hands. “Anyway, you’re one to talk. You joined in.” He motioned to Cas’ face. “You’re gonna have a nasty bruise.”

Cas touched his cheekbone gingerly. “Oh, well. Think that jackass I punched will have something similar.” He glanced down at his hand and flexed his fist. “That hurt.” Dean started laughing and Cas looked up, smiled a little. “You’re welcome, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Dean leaned back against the cab, ignoring how dirty it was. “Didn’t expect you to show up of all people. Didn’t know you were nearby.”

“I won’t be for long. I’m headed north. To Michigan.”

“Too bad. East.”

“Oh.”

Dean glanced at the other trucks in the lot. “You staying at some motel?”

Cas shook his head. “I was just gonna get a drink, then sleep in the truck.”

“Same here. Well, I stayed for a little longer than one drink. And a few pool games. Shoulda known that asshole would be a sore loser.”

Cas nodded and Dean let his eyes run over him. He’d be lying if he said if he hadn’t been hoping to see Cas again soon. He hadn’t planned on making a habit out of hooking up in the odd times they ran into each other, but he saw Cas infrequently enough and—as evidenced by Cas joining in on a fight he knew nothing about just to help him—the guy was good people. Not to mention he wasn’t so bad in bed.

“I got a few beers in the cooler,” Dean said. “‘Less you’re dead set on drinking warm beer in a craphole.”

“Not particularly.”

Dean broke into a grin and straightened off the truck, patted Cas on the shoulder. “You should try getting more jobs coast to coast. That’s usually my route.”

Cas smiled a little. “Wouldn’t matter, we’d end up going opposite directions.”

“Yeah, seems to always work out that way.”

Fetching a six-pack from his truck, he and Cas sat down on the curb behind the trailer, shielded from view of the bar, an orange streetlight buzzing above their head.

Cas took the can Dean offered him. “I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe I should give you my number. Just to, I don't know, find out if we're anywhere close to each other.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean pulled out his phone and handed it over, said, “What’ve you been doing since I saw you last?” Two months, if he wasn’t mistaken. They’d met up outside St. Louis.

Cas typed his number into his phone. “Nothing. Just driving.” He handed Dean’s phone back. “Took your advice, bought a slow cooker for food. And some plants.”

“You keep plants in your sleeper? Weird.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s not weird. Plenty of drivers do. Just trying to make it look more homey.”

“I guess.” Cracking open his own beer, he took a long drink, and Cas said, 

“Actually, something new. On my last drive, I was near Bedford—where I grew up—so I stopped by to see Anna. Got to meet my niece and nephew.”

“That the first time you met them?” Dean asked and Cas nodded. “How long’d it been since you saw Anna?”

“Eight years.”

“Shit. Must’ve been weird.”

“Yeah.” Cas fiddled with the tab on the top of his can. “I wasn’t able to visit long, just for the afternoon.”

“Glad you saw her?”

“Mhm. But I won’t be surprised if it’s a while before I see her again. We just don’t have a lot in common. Not like we were ever good friends. Her and my brothers, they’re all older than me, and they all have their own lives. I’ve never really been close with them.”

“Sucks. I mean, Sammy and I fight, sure, but we’ve always been close.”

Cas sighed. “I’m used to it.” He shifted, crossed his legs at the ankle. “I don’t know, Anna says it was different before Mom died. Everyone was closer then. My dad got really, I guess, distant after. Really strict too. I hated it. I couldn’t do anything I wanted, always had to work at the dealership, never could go anywhere. I just wanted to do my own thing, which was a sin, apparently in his book.”

“That’s tough.”

Cas looked at him. “Your dad not the same way?”

“Nah, John was more the distant part. Couldn't be bothered to stick around. I hardly knew him. After he and Mom got divorced when I was four, he kept to himself. Showed up to a few birthday parties drunk and my mom banned him from coming over.” He grinned. “She hated the sonuvabitch. Can’t say I was too fond of him either.”

“Sorry.”

Dean shrugged. “Just how it was.” 

“Shitty dads,” Cas said. He smiled a little. “Great thing to have in common.” 

Dean laughed. “Yup, you get it.” Feeling generous, he slung his arm over Cas’ shoulders, patting him on the back before pulling away.

The curb wasn’t exactly a comfortable place to sit, and the air turned chillier as the night grew longer, but Dean couldn’t will himself to get up, not even to get Cas into his truck and undressed. It was kinda nice, just sitting and talking; he and Cas admittedly hadn’t done much talking the past few times they’d run into each other.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Cas said, frowning at the can in his hand. “Or, today, I guess.”

“What’s new?” Dean asked. He crushed his empty beer can. “Always have to get up early. Always someplace to be. You tired of it yet?”

“I’ve been tired.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, me too.” He gestured for Cas to hand him the last beer. He didn’t have to drive early tomorrow, he could handle a bit of a hangover. “I like driving, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not what I wanna do for the rest of my life, not like John.” 

Taking a drink, he swallowed and continued, “Bobby was smart, he got out. And his shop is going well. Turns out people like him enough to bring over their cars for him to fix. He said if I ever wanna quit, I have a job there.”

“Will you?” Cas asked. “Quit?”

Dean shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe one day.” Cas stared at his boots, and Dean nudged his shoulder. “What, you gonna miss me if I do?”

“Yes,” Cas answered easily enough, meeting his eyes.

“Oh,” Dean said, feeling a little startled. Recovering, he said, “Guess I’ll stick around then.”

Cas smiled, ducking his head to hide it. Dean smiled too. He took another drink, and Cas hugged his knees, looked out at the road to their left. A motorcycle’s revving engine cut through the night as a rider passed by. For a moment, Dean wondered what someone would think seeing him and Cas sitting here together. Their legs were brushing; he didn’t know when they’d moved in so close. 

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Cas said, breaking the silence. “Gets so boring driving.”

Dean eyed how much was left in his beer can. “Glad me getting beat up gave you some entertainment.”

“No, I—” Dean grinned and Cas rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean, I'm just fucking tired.”

“You’re fucking drunk. You’re gonna feel like shit driving.”

“I’m not drunk,” Cas protested, picking up the can at his feet and peering into it. “Maybe a little. Take this, I need to stop drinking.” He shoved the beer at Dean and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “I just meant that I, um. Well. Been kinda on my own for a while. Nice to finally have someone to talk to.”

“Right. Talk to,” Dean said, draining the rest of Cas’ beer. “That’s all.”

Cas elbowed him and Dean sputtered, laughing. But, all jokes aside, he thought he understood. It’d been a while since he met someone like Cas that he could just _be_ with; no worries, no cares. He knew a few drivers fairly well, had some friends back home, people he’d graduated high school with, but that was about it. Hard to maintain relationships when he was always on the road. The people he was closest to were his family, people who were always going to be there regardless of how long he was gone. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Cas asked, shifting to face him. When Dean nodded, he said, “Whatever happened with you and Lisa?” Quickly, he added, “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to. I just wondered, because you mentioned you were married, and I was kinda surprised.”

“Why?” Dean teased. “Can’t imagine me as a married man?”

“No, it’s just, I guess I wondered what happened, why you got divorced.” He touched Dean’s knee, lightly, and Dean felt the sensation as if he’d touched bare skin. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I know that’s personal.”

“It’s alright.” Funnily enough, he didn’t mind talking about it now. Maybe he’d drunk too much to be self-conscious about it. “Uh, I don’t know. Got hitched in ‘99, right out of high school, same time I started driving. Not over the road yet, but it was a lot, and I was working another part-time job on the weekends, and I didn’t really know what the fuck I was doing, being married, ya know? She got lonely and sick and tired of it all, and I guess I didn’t really see the signs. And when I did, it was too late to save anything. Only lasted ‘bout two years.” He paused, remembering. Getting a lawyer, signing papers he hardly understood, packing up his shit and moving back in with his mom. “She, uh, she has a kid now, with another guy. Remarried a year after we split up, lives in Florida.”

“Sorry.”

Dean shrugged. “You wanna know the worst part? I was so damn embarrassed. Because we were a couple all throughout high school. Told everyone she was the one. Anyway—” He swallowed down more of his beer. “‘Nuff about me. What about you?”

“There’s nothing to say. I’ve never really been in anything serious.” He toed at loose gravel. “Don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”

“Good. It sucks.” Cas laughed, looking at him, and Dean grinned. “Honestly, it sucks. Makes you act like an idiot, and it never ends well.”

“That’s not true.” Dean gave him a look. “Is it?”

“Yeah.” He took another drink and amended, “Maybe. But how would I know? I’ve only ever been in love once, and it…” He trailed off, then admitted, “Guess it wasn’t all bad.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “Maybe you should try again. Your sample size is too small to make an accurate conclusion.”

Dean screwed up his face. “Alright, Einstein.” He shook his head. “No thanks.”

A smile tugged at Cas’ mouth. “Guess we’ll both die alone, then.”

“Shit, Cas. Way to bring down the mood.”

“But you’ll have me, we’re both gonna die alone together.”

Dean laughed. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Cas shoved him. “Shut up. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Okay, okay.” Dean raised his can in a toast. “You and me, Cas. Till we die.”

It was all a joke, but Cas’ expression turned somber, serious, and Dean couldn’t look away. Then Cas moved in and kissed him, bringing both hands to his face, and Dean let out a noise of surprise, set his beer down to grab Cas’ shirt. He thought he heard the can fall over at their feet, but he didn’t pay it any mind, too distracted by the way Cas was kissing him breathless.

It’d been a joke, but he thought he might have meant it. It was reckless, the feeling in his chest, because him and Cas weren’t anything much at all. 

“Think you're the best thing that's ever happened to me,” Cas said, pulling away enough to meet his eyes. Dean wanted to ask why, wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, it was too big of a statement, but his head was spinning, from alcohol or something else entirely, he didn’t know. He nodded because he couldn’t speak, and Cas kissed him again, slower this time.

It was so reckless, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. _You and me,_ him and Cas, it felt so right.


	4. Chapter 4

_**·** present day **·**_

Kenny Rogers' greatest hits played from the speakers around the bar, and Dean studied the last remnants of whiskey in his glass before finishing it. Setting the glass down, he glanced around the bar, hoped he’d get to see Cas again tonight. Reaching Fort Collins, he’d pulled off into a Walmart Supercenter parking lot for the night. Cas had kept driving, but was hoping to double back and join him if his next shipment wasn’t ready to be picked up until morning. It was nice, getting to see Cas for more than a few hours at a time, getting to make plans to see each other soon instead of going their separate ways for another several weeks. 

_But don’t get too attached,_ he warned himself, thumbing over the lip of the glass. Because in six days, he’d only be saying goodbye to Cas again.

He didn’t know why he felt like they’d been in an argument, talking on the phone earlier. Yes, Cas had confronted him about when he’d decided to quit, but it hadn’t been an argument; Cas knew, they both knew how things stood.

Still, a stone sat heavy in his gut. It was Cas’ shock, that’s what had fazed him. Like Cas had thought this, their arrangement, would go on forever. Maybe Dean had thought that too. 

Seven years had snuck up on him. Longer than he could’ve ever asked for, would’ve ever expected. Seven years of talking on the radio while passing each other on highways, of meeting at motels with creaky beds, of catching sight of each other in noisy truck stops.

He checked his phone, but Cas hadn't texted him. Maybe they wouldn't get to see each other again; maybe they wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye.

The thought made him queasy and though he knew he had to get up early tomorrow, he motioned to the bartender to refill his glass. No matter how long in between, he'd always known he’d see Cas again. Easy arrangement. See each other whenever, call sometimes in between, no other expectations. Sure, the inconsistency, the time apart, it wore on him, but maybe the inconsistency was part of the appeal. Whatever arrangement he and Cas had going on worked well enough for them without requiring too much upkeep. 

That sounded selfish, lazy even to his own mind, but he’d tried the whole relationship thing before and he wasn’t so eager to try it again. He liked to think he’d matured some since he was with Lisa, liked to think he could avoid the same mistakes he’d made with her—never being around, not knowing what either she or he needed from each other—but he’d rather not test the theory.

And, truth be told, he’d never considered putting a name to what he and Cas had. They just had each other when they could and that was enough. Well, maybe he could’ve stood seeing more of Cas. Too late for that now, though. He’d decided to quit, he’d decided it was time, and he stood by his decision. Just hadn’t thought it’d be so difficult. 

Cas still hadn’t texted him when he left the bar and crossed the street to his truck, so after planning his route for the following day, he gave up on waiting for him and tried to fall asleep, unsuccessfully. He stared at the dim forms of the shelves and curtain in the sleeper berth, listened to the rush and rattle of passing trucks and cars on the nearby highway, crunch of tires on asphalt as other rigs pulled into the parking lot. Usually a comforting white noise, now it refused to recede to the back of his awareness and instead kept him awake, on edge.

Giving up, he opened the cab door and sat down in the doorway. He lit a cigarette and with the first inhale felt the tingling at the back of his neck, the hazy buzz settle over him. The other rigs parked along the back of the lot were spread out over the spaces, distanced from each other. The rest of the parking lot lay empty except for a lone shopping cart creaking slightly forward and back in a breeze.

With one hand, he popped his collar against the chill and rested his forearms on his thighs. He wondered if Cas had decided not to show on purpose. He knew it wasn’t fair how abruptly he’d dropped the news that he was quitting. Hadn’t even given Cas time to adjust. But he was still getting used to the idea himself. 

Switching his cigarette to his other hand, tucking the free one inside his pocket to warm, he felt a swirl of apprehension in his chest. Quitting driving felt like the end of one chapter in his life. He wasn’t sure how this semi-relationship with Cas was going to carry over into the start of another. 

Guilty, he wondered whether it should. They’d been young when they met each other, they’d had a good run, and Dean didn’t want to ruin what they had by dragging it on for too long. Though, maybe he didn’t have to end anything. He would quit and as the months passed, he and Cas would realize their lives weren’t so compatible, and they’d fall out of touch.

All the same, it was hard to imagine a life without Cas. His mind ran back through all the years he’d driven before Cas. Lonely years. Too many nights spent in silence. He didn’t know how he’d done it. Selfishly, didn’t want to do it again. Didn’t make sense how, even after years of nights like these, they still so often bothered him, made him uneasy.

Distantly, he registered a truck hissing to a stop in the lot, a cab door creaking open, but he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were at his side. When he looked up, Cas was already standing there. 

“Hey,” Dean said, after a pause. “You made it.” 

Cas nodded and leaned on the cab next to him. “Gotta be at the loading dock at six in the morning. Headed to Wisconsin next.”

Dean felt a tightness release in his chest. They still had time. “Should be able to meet up again, work out our routes since we’re heading in the same direction.”

“Good.”

Dean nodded and looked away, studied the cigarette between his fingers. A car roared past on the road, too fast, sound fading quickly. 

“Thought you quit for good this time.”

Dean glanced at Cas, then back at his cigarette and shrugged. “More or less.” Taking a long drag, he held it out and Cas took it.

The cigarette crackled thinly as Cas inhaled. Dean watched a plastic bag tumble over itself and get tangled in the shopping cart’s wheels. The parking lot lights made odd shadows out of the whole affair.

Cas spoke up, “I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable, earlier. I didn’t want to argue.”

Dean shook his head, cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

“I meant what I said. I’m happy for you.” Nudging Dean’s shoulder, he handed back the cigarette. “Think you’re gonna do great out there with the shop.”

“Thanks.” Dean took another drag, then grew tired of it. He offered it to Cas again and when Cas shook his head, dropped it to the asphalt. Cas ground it out with the heel of his boot.

Staring at the pavement, Dean knew he was a coward. Part of him still wished he could’ve avoided telling Cas that he was quitting. Just to avoid the questions, the uncertainty, the _what now?_ that lingered in his mind like the taste of a cigarette.

“Dean,” Cas said, and, tilting his head back, Dean looked at him. “We'll keep in touch, won't we?"

Dean faltered. He wanted to say yes, but he knew what Cas didn’t—that for all the times he did call, there were a hundred others when his fingers itched to pick up the phone and something held him back. Seeing Cas every few weeks should be enough; he shouldn't miss him in between.

"Of course," he managed. He didn't know if it was a promise or only something he knew Cas wanted to hear. All he knew was that he wasn’t alone tonight; he’d deal with the rest later. 

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Dean blew him and Castiel didn’t know whether that was an apology or not. He didn’t know whether he’d been _expecting_ an apology or not.

He lay on his back, legs hanging over the side of the sleeper bed, his hips jerking and breath catching, his fingers in Dean’s hair, and he felt guilty. Dean had looked too surprised to see him show up tonight. For good reason; he'd wondered if he _should_ come over. But he didn’t get to see Dean often, and the last time they’d gotten to see each other multiple times in one drive had been years ago. He wasn’t going to waste any opportunity, even if he was feeling slighted. Not that he had any right to be feeling that way. Dean said he’d wanted to tell him. Just more convenient this way, to tell him in person. That was all.

And he should stop thinking too much because Dean was kneeling between his thighs and Dean’s hands were on his hips, and Dean’s mouth was on his cock, and _fuck_ , Dean was going to quit, and he didn’t know what that meant for them.

But he let Dean blow him, and when he’d come, too in his own head to be satisfied, and in turn got Dean off with his hands, too distracted, too clumsy, and when they got under the covers, too silent, he lay awake. 

Orange light bled through the blind-covered window in the cab, and his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness so he could see the outline of Dean’s body, facing away from him, bare shoulder rising slightly with every sleeping breath.

He had looked so unsure when Castiel asked if they would keep in touch. Maybe Castiel was asking for too much. Yes, he and Dean had grown close over the years. But, still, Dean had his own life and Castiel was distanced from it.

But maybe he hadn’t realized how distant, until now. Maybe that’s why, as Dean slept, his mind kept returning to two years ago, when Mary passed and Dean called him in the middle of the night to tell him. 

Seeing his phone light up with Dean’s name on the screen, he’d thought it was a mistake because Dean hardly ever called and never at three in the morning. Then Dean told him haltingly that Mary was gone, and Castiel whispered, “Oh, Dean,” his heart dropping. 

Dean kept apologizing for bothering him, and Castiel kept repeating that it was alright, was there anything he could do? Dean said he was on the road, couldn’t get home for a few days still, was trying to get his route changed, and Castiel was pretty sure he was crying on the other end, though he was trying to hide it, kept clearing his throat and swearing under his breath. 

And hesitantly, Castiel asked if he could come see him, if Dean wanted him to come over. As soon as he asked, he began backtracking, “Only if you want, don’t feel like you have to—” But Dean interrupted him and told him yes. 

So Dean got his route changed and hightailed it back to Sioux Falls, and Castiel went to the address Dean gave him, Bobby’s place.

When he rang the doorbell, a tall man answered. “You’re Cas, right?” he asked, and Castiel nodded. 

“Yes. You’re Sam?” 

Sam nodded and stepped back for Castiel to enter. “Dean’s talked about you, told us you were coming. Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.” Cas wondered if that were true, that Dean talked about him. “I’m, um, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Sam tried for a smile. “Thanks.”

He led Castiel through a hallway, the walls decorated with framed photos. A younger Sam and Dean sitting on a hay-strewn wagon holding pumpkins as big as they were, Dean with a trophy for wrestling, school photos, the whole family dressed up for a wedding.

Dean and Bobby were sitting on the back porch with a woman Castiel assumed was Eileen. A young child stood between Dean’s legs, kicking his feet out in mock steps, fists wrapped around Dean’s fingers. He looked up at the squeak of the screen door when Castiel and Sam stepped outside.

Dean did too. “Hey, Cas.” There were bags under his eyes, his expression haggard, but a smile pulled at his mouth before it disappeared, like he was too tired to keep it.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, standing there awkwardly, unsure what to do with his hands. Dean introduced everyone, and Castiel nodded at them in turn. 

“Think we’ve met before,” Bobby said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” Cas said, shaking his hand. “A few years ago now.”

Silence fell over them, punctuated by Jack’s babbling. Picking him up, Dean handed him off to Eileen and stood. “You wanna...?” he motioned to the backyard and Castiel nodded. 

They wandered through the remains of cars, twisted and burnt metal, empty husks, and Dean told him how Mary had passed in the night, how they held the funeral when he got back, and it was good, a lot of people showed up, it was exactly what she had wanted. 

He fell silent and Castiel fought for the right words to say, scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of saying too much. It was never easy to address grief, but he felt anxious too because he and Dean had never met up before outside of their routes. Unspoken agreement that whatever happened between them, it stayed on the road, didn’t follow them home. 

They paused in the middle of the junkyard, cars nearly obscuring Bobby’s house, and Dean leaned on the side of a rusted car, crossed his arms. Castiel asked, “How is Sam taking it?”

“He’s alright. He’s… It’s been rough.” Dean shifted, stared down at his boots. “I mean, he was there when she… He had to let everyone know. Him and Bobby.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I should’ve been here.”

“You couldn’t have been. You were working—”

“I should’ve taken time off, I knew she was getting worse—” Cutting himself off, he stared off to the side, biting at the skin around his thumbnail. 

A nervous habit. Castiel watched him, wishing he could offer something better than the _I’m sorry_ ’s he had repeated too much already. They were good friends—or so Castiel liked to think. At the very least, he and Dean had talked enough to know a fair bit about each other’s families and lives. Dean and his brother had been very close with Mary, he knew. Her sickness had taken a toll on them. There wasn’t anything he could say to make her death hurt any less, though he wished he could. But he thought he understood a bit of what was running through Dean’s head—the what if’s, the guilt for not being there more. 

“I wasn’t there when my dad passed,” he tried. Dean looked at him. “And the one thing I still think about is the last time I saw him, when I was seventeen. And I wonder if I should've returned home, if things would be different if I had never left.” He took a deep breath. “But you, you were there for your mom, always. Even if you weren’t there at the very end, you were there for her. You don’t have to beat yourself up about this. She knew you loved her.”

He held Dean’s gaze, trying to convey as much sincerity as he felt, hoping Dean understood what he meant, what he saw. How much love there was in Dean, how much he cared for others. He loved so deeply, and his family was lucky to be on the receiving end of it. 

Ducking his head, Dean nodded and knuckled brusquely at the corner of his eye. “Thanks,” he said, his voice rough.

Castiel’s heart ached, a tangible, physical sensation in his chest. “Are you going to take time off?” he asked. 

“Yeah." Dean cleared his throat. "Probably until the end of the month.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

“Right, yeah.” Sniffing, Dean wiped at his eyes again and swore. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s alright, don’t apologize.” 

“Sam’s, uh.” Dean waved his hand. “Sam’s a mess and I’ve had to, you know, make arrangements and figure out where to put her stuff, and it’s just, it’s just a lot.” He looked down at the patchy, yellowed grass, clenching his jaw.

Castiel nodded. “Can I—” He took a hesitant step closer, and Dean let him hug him, first stiff, then relaxing into it, pulling him tighter, ducking his head into his shoulder.

Castiel held onto him and a surge of affection rose in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t fully articulate but which threatened to overwhelm him. He wished he could give voice to it, wished he could tell Dean exactly how much he cared for him. Words rose up in his throat, but he pushed them away. Not the words Dean needed to hear now, selfish words. Too heavy for this moment, too much.

He didn’t know how long they roamed through the yard, mostly silent. That night he ate dinner with everyone—a casserole someone had brought after the funeral. The house was quiet, clinking silverware, attempts at conversation that died down too soon because no one had the energy to continue them. It struck Castiel that this was his first family meal in years. Dean was bouncing his leg under the table, and Castiel couldn’t help feeling grateful that Dean trusted him enough to let him come over, meet his family. But he couldn’t escape his anxiety that his presence was only making things worse.

“Thanks for coming,” Dean said when he walked him outside to the car Castiel had rented to drive out there. 

“Of course.”

Dean nodded, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I just, I mean, I really appreciate it. You coming all the way out here, and you know, talking me through it, when I, when I called.”

“It’s what you would’ve done for me.” Of course he’d come, of course he wanted to be here for Dean. He didn’t want him to hurt; he felt something towards him he'd never felt for anyone else, and since he couldn’t say it, he wanted to show it, wanted to take care of him, wanted to come as close to the words as he could. “You can call me, anytime. Whatever you need.” 

And he felt horribly selfish for hoping Dean _would_ call, for hoping something beneficial to him would come out of such a terrible time for Dean. And he berated himself for the way his heart skipped when, two and a half weeks later, Dean called to tell him he was going back to work, that he was headed to North Carolina, would he be anywhere nearby?

And Dean kept calling, and Castiel kept calling, always with the excuse of talking about their routes, when they could meet up again, but their phone calls lasted longer and longer, talking about inconsequential things. Never enough, though. He didn’t know why they needed the excuse, why it felt so wrong to just call and say _I miss you_ , to tell the truth. He was so tired of never telling the truth. 

Laying now in the sleeper next to Dean, he reached out and gently traced invisible lines with the pad of his finger from one freckle to the next, moving close to see them in the dim lighting. 

Dean had talked about quitting plenty over the years, and even though it’d been hypothetical, idle talk, Castiel’s heart had always thudded in his chest. It had scared him, the thought that one day he might not have this. In a life without many constants, there was one person he could always count on to be around: Dean. No matter how long they were apart, their paths would always cross again.

Sliding closer, he slipped his arm around Dean’s waist, shut his eyes, felt the rise and fall of Dean’s breathing under his arm. Pressing his forehead to the nape of Dean’s neck, he breathed in the scent of his hair. He had to get up in a few hours, keep driving. _Fuck,_ he really didn’t want to leave.

Dean had once told him, _you and me, Cas, till we die_ , and Castiel had believed him. Foolish, in hindsight, because Dean seemed to think he’d grow tired of him, seemed to count on it. Castiel didn’t think that could ever happen. 

Dean’s skin was warm against his and Castiel tightened his hold on him. _Drive me crazy,_ he thought, _just don’t leave me._


	5. Chapter 5

Dean's next drop off wasn’t for 48 more hours, so he didn’t have to rush to get there, but he got up early with Cas the next morning. Before Cas hit the road to pick up his next shipment, they walked across the street to where a squat diner stood next to a gas station, the sky above streaked with clouds stained purple from the rising sun.

Cas had been quiet the night before and into the morning, and Dean hated the way his quitting was tainting their time together, both continually thinking about it, he knew. 

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, glanced at the text he'd received. “Bobby,” he commented to Cas’ curious look, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Keeps texting me about paperwork and all these damn details about the shop.”

“What’s he gonna do now that he’s retiring?”

Dean held open the door to the diner for Cas. “Doubt it’ll be much of a retirement. Probably most of the same, keep hanging around the shop. He’s got a sweet deal, giving me all the finances and shit to deal with.”

“When are you officially taking over?”

“Seat yourself!” a woman called from behind the counter and Cas chose a booth by a window. 

Dean slid into the bench seat opposite him. “Uh, don’t know. Soon, I guess, once we finalize all the paperwork.” 

Cas picked up one of the menus already lying on the table and flipped it open. “Maybe when I’m driving near Sioux Falls, I can stop by. See how you’re doing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean’s eyes skimmed over the menu’s offerings without really reading them; he’d order the same thing anyway as he always did: coffee, waffles, a side of bacon. “Probably be a bit before I get settled in.” He flipped to another page, pancakes, eggs, toast. “God, it’s been ages since I had some 9-5 job—”

“Dean.”

Dean glanced up. Cas had set his menu down and was watching him, hands clasped on the table. Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to visit, if I may.”

 _Oh._ “Uh, yeah, sure.” Dean coughed into his fist, raised his menu again. “‘Course. Anyone’s welcome to stop by.” Inwardly, he winced. God, he was a jackass. He knew what Cas was saying.

Nodding, Cas looked back down at his menu. _I didn’t mean it like that, I meant you, of course I'd want to see you._ The words rose to Dean’s tongue, but he bit them back and frowned at the warped, laminated menu pages.

“I don’t know how often I’ll be in the area, but when I am…”

“Really, Cas, you’re welcome to visit anytime.” Closer to the truth, he added, “You’re the one I’d want to see most, out of everyone.” Even among the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation, the words sounded too loud and his face heated. Glancing around the diner, he looked for the waitress.

“You mean that?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, of course.” He wished Cas would stop watching him, slightest tilt to his head, scrutinizing him, like he was trying to read his mind. “You’re still gonna be on the road, though. Sure that’ll keep you plenty busy.” It was the law of the road, everyone knew that if you drove back and forth across the country, that was it. Driving was your life, no room for anything else. Only the luckiest had managed to carve out some sort of life off the road, friends and relationships, someone to return to at home. Most only had what he and Cas had, or less.

“I’d make time. Wouldn’t be so different than what we already do. And I could call.”

His mouth dry, Dean said, “Sure.”

“Dean—”

“What?” Shutting his menu, Dean finally met Cas’ eyes. “Yeah, you can call. Visit, whatever. Keep in touch.” 

“I just thought…” Cas paused, glancing around the diner. Dean recognized a driver sitting at the counter on the stools. “Thought we’ve known each other long enough.”

Dean's boots squeaked on the floor when he shifted his weight. “Mhm?”

“Thought maybe this doesn’t have to end because you’re quitting.”

Something nervous was rising in Dean's chest. Something in the way Cas was watching him, like there was something else underlying his words. _Keep in touch._ What did that even mean? Keep up the on again, off again thing they had? He knew, and he knew Cas knew, that even if they did keep in touch, they’d be seeing a lot less of each other than usual. And they already saw so little of each other.

When he remained silent, unsure of what to say, Cas spoke up, “Unless...” Dropping his gaze, he fiddled with the torn edge of his menu. “Unless there’s someone else." His eyes flicked up to Dean's. " _Is_ there someone else you’ve been seeing back home?”

 _Someone else? He thought there might be someone else?_ Cas added quickly, “It’s alright if there is, I only wondered because I won’t visit. If there is. I understand.” He trailed off. 

Dean swallowed hard. “There isn’t anyone else." Quieter, he admitted, “There hasn’t been anyone else for a long time.”

He couldn't meet Cas' eyes. “Me neither," Cas said just as quiet. "I mean, it’s the same. No one else.”

That was a heavy admission, for both of them. Cas seemed to be waiting for more, if his silence was any indicator, but Dean didn’t know what else to say, felt a little frightened by the implications of what they'd said. He picked up his menu again, thumbed through the pages, then the waitress came to take their orders.

 _No one else._ When had that happened? When had he lost interest in anyone other than Cas? Once, maybe four years ago, he’d found someone at a bar, a one-night stand. She’d left her number and he’d never called. Part of him had wanted to because Sam had Eileen and now a kid, and Lisa had a husband, and shouldn’t he, also, finally settle down, shouldn’t he stop messing around and find someone, settle?

She said, call me, and his finger hovered over Cas’ name instead.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

The sun hovered just over the horizon when Castiel arrived at his pickup location. Pulling into the lot, he parked and went inside to sign paperwork for the new shipment. Wait for the dockworkers to load the trailer, then off to Little Chute, Wisconsin. Two and a half more weeks until his hometime. He never kept counted down the days because there was nothing to look forward to during his time off. Get a motel room for the week, lounge around watching TV and reading, grow increasingly more impatient until he was back on the road. 

Returning to his truck, he swept out the trailer, then waited inside the cab for the shippers to load the cargo. Using a water bottle, he watered his plants and placed the tiny pots on the floor in the sunlight coming through the windshield. He stared at them for a moment and thought of how inadequate they looked, how inadequate his efforts were in making the truck feel more like a home. 

Laying across his bed, he stared up at the ceiling and tried to take a nap. He couldn’t sleep. He may not have cared how many days were left until his hometime, but he felt a surge of anxiety every time he thought of how many days Dean had left. They were going to try and meet up again, not tonight, hopefully near Dean's next drop off in Omaha, and he couldn't get rid of the feeling that they were living on borrowed time.

He knew Dean was lying, saying he could call or visit. Not that Dean wouldn’t welcome him, but he could imagine how uncomfortable it would be, awkward silence and the feeling that too often reared its head, that he wasn’t wanted, that Dean didn’t actually want to see him. 

But Dean had said there was no one else. Castiel had thought hearing those words would bring more relief, but Dean said them like it didn’t matter that they’d been the only ones for each other for a long time now; it didn’t change anything, mean anything. Once again, he'd expected too much.

Pushing himself up to sit, he rubbed his hands over his face, tried to quell the disappointment that turned his stomach. He’d thought that Dean felt the same as he did—and that, he supposed, was why Dean’s quitting was such a surprise. He’d thought Dean felt the same and so worked up the courage to suggest driving together, and it turned out he was wrong, he’d read everything wrong.

Part of him still refused to believe it. There was a connection between them, he couldn’t deny that. He knew Dean felt it too, because how could he not? But they never acknowledged it. That was why they never visited outside of drives, wasn’t it? Hardly ever called? Because to do so might make this thing between them grow. It had already grown so much over the years, more than he’d ever expected, more than he reckoned Dean had expected.

He didn’t know why it was such a frightening prospect to admit to himself that he wanted more than just casual hookups. But he did. He knew he did. The only question was, did Dean? He wanted so badly to believe Dean did. After all, the only reason he’d worked up the courage to suggest driving together was because of something that had happened two months ago. Dean had called him just to talk.

It’d been 2 or 3 a.m., and he’d been staying at the Prairie Court Motel. He had a good enough relationship with his dispatcher that he could usually get his routes to end up in Cheyenne, Wyoming, letting him spend his hometime in a small, modest motel that had become the closest to a home as he’d gotten in the last nine years. Ms. Dowlings, the owner, always tried to give him the same room—22, a corner room with a view of the wide open plains—and he always stopped by to talk to her in the office, pet whichever of her three cats happened to be in the room, and use the kitchen in her small apartment adjoining the motel—preferable to the small two-burner stove and fickle microwave in his room.

The night that Dean called him, he had said goodnight to Ms. Dowlings and Boots and gone to his room, stayed up late looking at course offerings at a nearby community college. More out of curiosity than anything else; he had no real intention of following through. Did he really want more schooling? Getting his GED had been hard enough, studying in the lulls at the diner where he’d worked when he was eighteen, nineteen. Fuck, he didn’t want to do that work again. One good thing about driving—no dealing with pissy customers who couldn’t leave decent tips to save their lives. 

But he didn't want to drive for the rest of his life. It was tiring work, and he'd never planned to do it this long. A link on the website, _Apply!,_ drew his eyes. If he wanted to take some classes, he'd have to quit driving over the road. His hours were too unpredictable; he could never commit to anything. 

Sighing, he was shutting his laptop when his phone screen lit up. He stared at the caller ID for a few moments, wondering why Dean would be calling him so late. His heart thudded, hoping something wasn’t wrong. 

Picking up his phone, he answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey? Cas?”

“Yes.” When Dean didn’t say anything immediately, Castiel asked, “Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, sorry, everything’s fine. Just thought I might call.” There was a soft clink. “Ya know, just because. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Four weeks,” Castiel supplied. Did Dean think he was driving, did he want to try and meet up? “I’m on hometime—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m off too, sorry this is weird.” His words were running into each other. “I shouldn’t’ve called.”

“No, it’s alright,” Castiel said quickly. Dean had called him just to talk, without an excuse? “Are you at Bobby’s?”

“Yeah.” Another clink, then something like liquid pouring. He was drinking, Castiel realized. Dean had called him because he was drunk. “Not driving again for, uhh, three more days? Heading out to Kansas. When are you going out?”

“In five days.” Leaning back in his chair, he studied a chip in the paint where the wall met the floor. “Going up north, so we won’t cross paths.”

“Fuck, too bad. Seems like, seems like we haven’t seen each other in forever, ya know? What’d you say? A month? When was that? Duluth?”

“Mhm.” Putting his phone on speakerphone, Castiel crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them. “We met up at a motel that didn’t have working air conditioning.”

“Fuck, I forgot about that. Shitty place.” 

Still, at least they’d managed to see each other. Funny, Castiel thought, that Dean would think four weeks seemed like forever. They’d been apart for much longer before. He'd thought he was the only one who noticed.

Dean asked, “You staying at that place in Wyoming?”

“Yes.” He let his gaze drift around the small room. He’d bobtailed to the motel from the drop yard, brought in his plants from the cab and arranged them on the window sill. One duffel bag, one backpack. He’d washed all his clothes and placed them in the creaky dresser across from the bed, even though he’d have to pack everything up in a few days.

“Passed through Cheyenne a couple times. Don’t think I stayed there. Place with the cats, right?”

“Yes.” Castiel rubbed at a water stain on the table with his thumb. “I was thinking, how hard would it be to keep a cat in the truck?”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Maybe something smaller. In a cage. Like a guinea pig.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Castiel protested. “I think it’d be nice to have a pet to keep me company.”

“You get a cat, and I’m never sleeping over in your truck again.”

“That’s fine, we’ll go to yours.”

Dean laughed. “Always go to my truck anyway. Yours is too crowded with the fucking plants.” A chair creaked. “How long’s it been? That we’ve been doing this, that we’ve known each other?”

“Six years. And… nine months.”

“Shit. Can’t believe you’ve put up with me that long.” More liquid pouring.

It wasn't a chore, far from it. If only Dean knew. He went for lighthearted, “Guess it’s because I don’t have to see you very often.”

Dean snorted. “Well, tough luck. Been in this life for so long, looking like we’ll be stuck in it forever. It’s you and me, buddy. Till we die.” 

“You’ve said that before. Can’t figure out if it’s a threat or a promise.”

Dean laughed for too hard and too long, until Castiel had to laugh too. “Was a promise,” Dean finally said, catching his breath. “‘Less you’re not interested.”

His voice had turned serious, and Castiel tried to joke again, “Sounds alright by me.”

“Nah, you’ll change your mind. Look at Lisa, she couldn’t put up with me.”

Castiel sobered. “Dean.”

The line was silent for a long moment, then, “I don’t know why I said that. It’s not… I don’t even know what she’s up to nowadays.” Thin screech of chair legs on the floor. “I don’t really care anymore, ya know? Can’t remember the last time I thought about her. I was thinking about you, that’s why I called.”

Warmth surged in Castiel's chest at those words. “What exactly were you thinking about?”

“Fucking Duluth.” Dean’s voice grew fainter, a refrigerator door opening then shutting. “Man, remember? You had, what, 600 miles to go in 12 hours?” Something creaked and his voice was louder again. “So you couldn’t stop for long, we only had two hours. Hardly got to see you. It sucked. Made the most of it, though.” Castiel heard the smile in his voice. “Wasn’t so bad.”

Castiel smiled too. “Yeah.”

Dean fell quiet on the other end, and Castiel wondered if Dean missed him, when they were apart. But Dean knew plenty of other drivers. Not for the first time, he wondered if Dean had other arrangements, with other drivers, with someone at home when he had time off. 

“I’ve seen some drivers traveling with dogs in their trucks.”

Castiel frowned at the change in conversation, then remembered they’d been talking about pets. “Yeah, me too. Think you’ll ever do that?”

“Nah. Bobby has a few dogs. Really mean before they get used to you. He’s retiring, I tell you that?”

“No. What’s going to happen to the shop?”

Dean fell silent. “Don’t know.” Another long pause, then he started talking, too fast, “I wasn’t gonna call you. But I dared myself, I guess. Fuck, not that I didn’t want to. But we don’t ever really talk. Not when we’re off.”

“I know. We should.” He only hesitated for a moment before saying the rest, “I miss you.” It was easier to say it now, over the phone, knowing Dean was drunk. It always seemed too big a thing to say to Dean face to face. Like he wasn’t allowed to miss him because they were only hooking up, only saw each other a few times a year. 

“Me too. I mean, the, missing. I miss you. A lot. Fuck.” Dean huffed, then said, “I should go.”

Castiel straightened, started to say goodbye, but Dean ended the call. He stared at the dark phone screen. Dean missed him. 

When he woke up the next morning, he had two texts from Dean. The first apologizing for calling him, saying he’d been drunk. The second explaining he didn’t even remember what he’d said, but by the call being 15 minutes long, sorry to talk his ear off. Castiel replied that it was alright, he hadn’t minded. And that was the end of that.

_Well, it should’ve been,_ Castiel thought, standing up from his bed now. Voices carried from outside, the scrape of metal as the trailer was loaded. Maybe he should’ve done as Dean did and forgot all about the call.

But Dean missed him. He felt the ache of the memory even now as he got in the driver’s seat, went over the paperwork he’d received for his next drop-off. Dean missed him and that thought had carried him through the following weeks, sparked a thousand fantasies in his mind—driving with Dean, sitting in the cab with him, talking in person instead of over the phone or radio, touching him the instant the need rose in his fingertips. Because Dean missed him, and what could happen between them if they never had to miss each other again? If they never had to say goodbye?

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Another day, another crappy motel. The heater buzzed and hummed and clicked, and Dean considered turning it off. It didn’t seem like it was doing much, anyway. His nose had been cold when he woke, and now he couldn’t fall back asleep. He studied the water stain above his head. Faded, like someone had tried to paint over it, but hadn’t used enough coats. At this angle, the shape vaguely resembled an elephant, or what an elephant would look like if Jack drew a picture of one.

The clock on the nightstand read 5:08 a.m. One more hour before he had to get up. He should try to get more rest, but he didn’t think any more sleep was coming for him. Cas was tucked against his side and his arm had fallen asleep where it was pinned under Cas’ shoulder, but Dean wouldn’t move. He’d finagled his route to be able to see Cas tonight, dropped off a shipment in Omaha and drove half an hour to this motel. Even one night apart had felt too long; he’d gotten too used to this, knew he needed to pull himself away. Not yet, though. He couldn’t yet.

Bobby had texted him that he had all the paperwork ready, just needed signatures. Dean would start working at the shop after maybe a week’s break, maybe sooner. Only a few days now. Everything was moving so fast. It seemed cruel that one of the few times he and Cas were going in the same direction, getting to see each other more than once, they had to do so with the knowledge that this was it. Couldn’t even enjoy it.

Cas sniffed and nestled deeper under the covers, drawing Dean's attention. He turned his head on the pillow to look at him—what was visible above the covers, that is.

“Make that damn thing stop,” Cas muttered, eyes still shut, blankets pulled up to his nose. Dean pulled his arm out from under him, fingertips tingling as blood rushed into them, and glanced over at the heater. 

“It’s freezing. Supposed to snow tonight.” With any luck, it’d just flurry and he wouldn’t be caught out in a storm, could get his new shipment and get back on the road. 

Moving closer, Cas draped an arm over his chest and Dean squeezed his bicep. Then again, maybe getting an extra day or so on the road wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

His last drive. It sounded so final. Even if they did see each other again, even if Cas did visit him in Sioux Falls, they’d never have it again like this. 

“Can’t believe...” He trailed off and Cas seemed to hear something in his voice because he lifted his head and squinted at him. “Just can’t believe I’m actually gonna quit.” He avoided Cas’ eyes, hating himself for talking about it now, when he’d made up his mind, when it was happening regardless. “Sure it’ll be all of two seconds before I’m itching to be back on the road. Running the shop might not even work out.”

Despite the abruptness of his statement, Cas was quick to answer, “No, Dean, it will, because this is what you wanna do.” He waited until Dean nodded. “It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

“You have to do it. Otherwise, you’ll always be wondering what if.”

Dean nodded again, and Cas settled back down. “What about you?” Dean asked, hooking an arm around him, letting his fingers trail over the warm skin of his back. “You gonna keep driving the rest of your life?”

Cas’ finger shifted on his chest, crooking in, then straightening, the pad of his fingertip smooth against Dean's skin. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think… Well, I've got savings, would still like to get a college degree.” His finger stopped moving. “Too old for that anyways, though.”

“No, you ain’t. If you wanna do it, do it. You’re the one who just told me I have to quit or else I’ll regret it.”

“Yes, but you have a plan.” Rolling over, Cas stared up at the ceiling. Dean followed his gaze. The water stain looked like a splotch now. “ _You_ are going to move closer to Bobby, to Sam. I... I don’t have that. I just think that…” He frowned. “I think moving to some town, getting an apartment, staying in one place, it’d be very lonely.”

“Can’t be any worse than now, though, can it?”

“Well, I have—” He paused. “I was gonna say I have you, but you won’t be on the road anymore.”

Dean tried to swallow down the way those words made him feel. “You got other friends on the road, Cas.”

“It isn’t the same.” Cas sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You know it isn’t the same.”

“So, what?" Dean asked, regretting ever bringing up the topic. "You want me to stick around, keep driving so you won’t be lonely? That what you want?”

Cas dropped his hand to the bedspread. “No, I don’t want that.”

Dean believed him, but it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty, like he was abandoning Cas. Sitting up, he said, “Well, this is what it is.” Leaning over the side of the bed, he fetched his shirt and pulled it over his head. “I mean, this is why I was dreading telling you, because I didn’t want it hanging over our heads.”

Cas was still watching him as he pushed his arms through the sleeves and not looking at him, he asked, “What, Cas?”

Carefully, deliberately, Cas asked, “If our routes didn’t match up this week, would you've ever told me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He couldn’t sound convincing, and by the look on Cas’ face, Cas knew he was lying. 

“Don’t you think I deserved to know?” Cas pressed. “I mean, I’ve known you for seven years now. I like to think we're good friends, at the very least."

"No, I know—”

"Then why the hell wouldn’t you tell me?” Crossing his arms over his bare stomach, he seemed to fight for words, then he was saying too much, overwhelming Dean. “I miss you, you know that? When you’re not around? Find myself thinking maybe, maybe it doesn’t have to be this way. Just these quick hookups every few months. Find myself thinking that maybe we could have something more.”

Dean froze. “What do you mean, more?”

Cas hesitated, dropping his eyes to the bed, and Dean stared at him. Then he thought of wanting to call Cas up, but stopping before he could dial the number; thought of coming within a few hundred miles of each other, but not getting to see each other; meeting up for the first time in months, but knowing they only had a few hours. And, suddenly, he knew what Cas meant. But he’d never thought to wish for more, not with Cas, not with their jobs, not when he knew they were lucky just to have this, and he shouldn’t risk jinxing it. 

Cas was tracing the floral design on the bedspread with his finger, and Dean hoped he wouldn’t be able to say it. But maybe it was better to have out with it than to keep skirting around the edges, pretending not to know everything was going to change. He'd known this would happen—he had ruined it all or was going to ruin it all or maybe there was nothing to ruin and he should stop reading so much into everything, should take a breath and grin and say it was good while it’d lasted. His chest felt tight.

Cas finally spoke, quietly, “Sometimes I wish that we could make this into something more serious.”

“This... “ What was this, what had it ever been but a few fucks on a few drives stretched out over too many years? Didn’t matter whether he might’ve ever wished for more or not. It wasn’t much, whatever this was. And maybe that’s how it should stay, had to stay. “No one ever said anything about serious, I never said anything, we never talked about that, because serious isn’t an option. This just happened to happen and now… we’re moving on.” Those last words fell slow and heavy from his tongue, and he felt a little stunned by them, even though he was the one speaking. 

Cas lifted his head and stared at him, looking similarly stunned. “Pretty easy for you to move on, isn’t it?”

Dean’s heart sunk, but he kept his expression ridged and shrugged. “I never said it was easy, just the way it is—”

Pushing back the covers, Cas started to rise. “Never mind.”

Dean grabbed his elbow. “Hey, where you going?” Cas paused, not meeting his eyes, and Dean faltered. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I thought we were on the same page. I mean, we hardly ever see each other, it’s always just been a matter of convenience. Right time, right place.”

Cas pulled his arm away. “That’s all?” 

When Dean didn’t, couldn’t answer, Cas shook his head. “I know. I know we never put a name to this, never thought we should, but—”

“But what?”

Cas answered quietly, "You said there isn't anyone else."

 _Fuck._ He'd known those words would come back to bite him. He fumbled for an excuse, "Yeah, because I'm busy and always on the road, I don't know. I don't meet many new people, and it's just easy with you since I've known you forever."

Cas kept his arms crossed tight around himself and Dean tried a different approach, "Listen, I don’t know what to say. Sorry if you got confused, sorry if you were looking for something more, but, man, I gotta tell you, if you’re looking for some… some sort of relationship, you got the wrong job, you’re looking at the wrong guy.” 

“That isn’t true,” Cas insisted, shifting to face him fully. “It’s a choice, Dean, it’s not you. We could make it work if you wanted to.” He stopped short of asking if Dean _did_ want to, and for that, Dean was grateful. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what his answer would be.

When he remained silent, Cas continued, “I don’t want to let a good thing go to waste.” Then, as if Dean didn’t know, “This is a good thing.”

And it’d already lasted longer than Dean ever imagined it would. Made sense that it was ending now. All good things came to an end, after all, or so he’d been telling himself.

“I know,” he said, “but I ain’t good for that.”

“We can give it half a chance, never know—”

“No, I know. It ain’t a good idea.”

Cas’ shoulders slumped and then he was nodding, looking down at the bedspread. “Fine. If that’s… If that’s what you want.”

What he wanted? He wanted… He didn’t know what he wanted, and maybe it didn’t matter anyway. Some things just had to be accepted. 

The heater sputtered and Dean rubbed his arms against the chill in the room. “So this is it, then?” Cas said quietly.

Leave it to Cas to make everything sound so final. “Guess so.” Not that he was making it sound any better.

Cas fell silent again and Dean softened. “Still got some days left. Ain’t over just yet.”

“Right.” 

“Hey.” He ducked his head to catch Cas’ eyes. Lifting his head, Cas looked at him, gaze serious, somber. Dean forced a grin. “Good while it lasted, huh?”

“Yeah,” Cas said and Dean could almost believe his smile, if it didn’t come up too late and fade so fast. “Real good.”

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_four years ago_

It was warm in the cab, the highway empty in both directions, the stars and moon bright, no clouds. The trees along the side of the road were shadowy masses, ruffled edges along the sky, and in a pull-off area, passed in a blur, sat several rigs, dark shapes like slumbering beasts. Dean’s headlights lit the dark asphalt and chipped lines of the road, and ahead of him hovered two red lights like eyes.

He could drive for hours like this; a comfortable calm, no thought in his head except the road and his and Cas’ easy conversation that flowed slow and languid over the CB radio like the mountains ridges in the distance. 

Cas told him about leaving home, getting his GED. How he started driving to save money for college, then never stopped.

Dean told him about his job on evenings and weekends in high school, long hours in the summer at the garage down the street. “Always thought I’d like to work there full-time,” he said, glancing at a sign announcing an approaching exit. He wouldn’t need an exit for miles and miles. “Work on cars for a living.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Never worked out.” He shifted gears as the road inclined. “Needed to make more money than the garage could pay me. ‘Sides, thought I’d like to see the country first. My dad always told me I should try driving. After high school, getting married, it made sense. Then, guess it was like with you. Just never stopped, even after Lisa.”

He let go of the radio button and after a stretch of road, it crackled back to life. “Think you’ll ever get married again?”

“Nope. Once burned.” Those had been wild years—arguments and tempers, broken hearts. He started to release the radio button, then pushed it again, said, “Think driving kinda helped with everything, after the divorce. Kinda just wanted to get away. Drove within state till I was 21, then started going over the road and haven’t stopped since.” _Ten years._

“I’ve been driving for five years now,” Cas said. “I didn’t think I’d ever drive for this long.”

“Me neither.”

A wide hill rose a few yards ahead, a black opening in the middle, growing larger as they neared. The tunnel swallowed Cas’ rig first, and the radio crackled. “I wouldn’t mind it so much, I think. If it was always like this.”

The tunnel walls rose up around Dean’s truck, orange lights sweeping at intervals over the steering wheel and his hands. The trailer Cas was pulling gleamed in the lights. He felt disoriented for a moment, like he’d ducked underwater. Always like what? The rumble of their engines echoed hollowly. Ahead, the tunnel opened and tiny pinpricks dotted the dark sky. He thought he knew what Cas meant.


	6. Chapter 6

_**·** present day **·**_

“Hey!” Benny called to no one in particular, raising his voice above the music and conversation in the crowded bar. He dropped a hand on Dean’s shoulder and announced to anyone who was listening. “This is Winchester’s last drive.”

Booing resonated around the bar, and Castiel nearly felt inclined to join in. Picking up his beer, he took a long swallow.

“No, no,” Benny said, waving at the bar to quiet. “He ain’t gonna abandon us. He’ll come around and visit, right, brother?”

“Right,” Dean said, an easy grin on his face. 

Benny clapped him on the back.“You better.” He settled on the stool next to Dean, ordered a round of shots. Other drivers came up, shook Dean’s hand, either congratulated him on quitting or told him he’d be back in a week. 

Feeling queasy, Castiel left the bar and smoked a cigarette outside. He’d reached Little Chute early this morning and now had 36 hours to himself, a break since he’d maxed out his driving hours within the last week. Dean had texted him, told him he was at this trucker bar a few miles away, and Castiel was regretting showing up. He hadn’t realized how much he'd hate being around other drivers. Others who had opinions on Dean’s quitting, who didn’t know the full story, who didn’t really care, not like he cared.

Music and laughter bled through the windows, voices almost discernible when the front door swung open to allow patrons to enter or exit the building. _Fuck_ , it was cold. Putting out his cigarette, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and watched his breath fade away in white clouds. 

_Fuck_ , he had it bad; it shouldn’t hurt this bad.

Going back inside, he ordered another beer and tried not to glower at Dean. Far as everyone else was concerned, he didn’t have an opinion on Dean’s leaving. He shouldn’t care one way or another. 

The stools next to Dean had been filled by people Castiel didn’t know, so he took a seat at the end of the bar. Dean glanced at him in between a conversation and Castiel looked away. He didn’t know why they still kept up this farce, acting like they weren’t close, keeping a distance between themselves. What was the point?

He’d tried to be kind yesterday morning when they argued at the motel, tried to accept that Dean was quitting, nothing to do about it. Maybe it was his fault for never asking for more earlier. Maybe he’d always known the response he’d get if he tried. Maybe they were always destined to end this way. He was finding it harder and harder to accept the fact without any bitterness. After all this time, for Dean to treat everything they had together like nothing, not even worth trying to keep alive...

A driver he recognized—Carmen, he thought—dragged Dean out to the floor to dance and Castiel’s fingers itched for another cigarette. 

“There a celebration or something going on?” someone sitting to his right asked, and Castiel glanced at him. 

“No,” he said. “I think someone’s quitting driving. It’s his last drive.”

“Oh. You a driver too?” Castiel nodded and the man stuck out his hand, “Noah.”

“Castiel,” he said, shaking his hand.

“What’s behind you?”

“California. I’m in between shipments right now.”

“Ah. I'm headed east too. Fucking exhausted.”

"Same here," Castiel sighed.

Noah gestured to the bartender and glanced at Castiel’s nearly empty beer. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Castiel started to say no, he should get back to his truck and get to sleep, but Carmen had her arms hooked around Dean’s neck and Dean’s hands were on her hips. “Sure. Thanks.”

The bar emptied out slightly as the night wore on, but it still remained too crowded and too warm. He was drinking too much, it was too late, and he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place. Dean sat at a table with Benny and others, and though Carmen hung around, she wasn’t getting anywhere with him. He tried to catch Castiel’s eyes a few times and Castiel avoided his gaze, tried to pay attention to whatever Noah was talking about.

Dean seemed to get the message and stopped looking over, and Castiel grew tired of the whole charade. “It’s getting late,” he said when Noah stopped talking. “I should head out.”

“Guess I should turn in too,” Noah said, picking up his jacket. 

_Fuck,_ Castiel thought. The frown on Dean’s face seeing him and Noah heading out together didn’t make him feel any better.

And outside, in the cold air, any remaining desire for revenge seeped away. “I really should get some sleep,” he said. 

“Really?” Noah asked, stopping in his tracks. “After all that?”

“Sorry—”

“Sure were leading me on.”

Growing annoyed, too tired for this bullshit, Castiel snapped, “I didn’t ask for you to talk to me.”

“Oh, but you just figured you’d let me pay for your drinks?”

“I’ll pay you back,” he tried with his last vestiges of patience, but Noah waved him off. 

“Fuck you.” He stomped off to his truck. “Asshole.”

“I didn’t mean—” Cutting himself off, Castiel headed to his own truck. He glanced back at the bar, and felt idiotic for doing so. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Why did he need more?

He almost gave in, almost returned to the bar and found Dean. But he forced himself to keep walking to his truck. He opened the cab door, then hesitated, dreading the thought of lying in the sleeper alone. 

Instead, he went behind the truck to sit on the curb and smoke. It was too fucking cold, but maybe part of him hoped Dean would come out of the bar and then... He didn’t know what he would do then. He just didn’t want this to be over. 

Glaring at the asphalt, listening to the racket coming from the bar, he tried to muster up anger towards Dean. He was nearly certain that Dean had called him two months ago to say he was quitting, then decided not to mention it. Why had Dean changed his mind? For all he knew of Dean, for all the years they’d known each other, he too often felt shut out, like Dean was putting up a wall to stop them from getting too close. It was infuriating.

But all his anger seeped away like the warmth in his fingers, holding a cigarette in the cold night air. Instead, all he could think of was four years ago, when he'd realized he loved Dean.

He had stopped for the night in Knoxville, Tennessee, and had been waiting for Dean to show. While he was logging his post-trip inspection, his phone had rung. Grabbing it, he'd smiled, seeing Dean was calling. Hopefully to say he was close by. 

“Hello?” he answered the call. He glanced at the time on the dashboard. Later than they'd planned to meet. Maybe Dean had gotten stuck in traffic.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “Listen, uh, I’m not gonna make it tonight.”

“What?” His smile falling, Cas switched his phone to his other ear. “Why not?”

“Had to stop for repairs around noon and it took way longer than I was expecting. I’m still up near Cincinnati, so I’m just gonna stay the night here and leave early so I can still make my drop-off tomorrow.”

“You can’t drive tonight?”

“I mean, I have the hours. But figured it’d be easier to stay here overnight.”

“But.” Cas rubbed at his eyes. “I drove all day to get here.” 

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not something I could control. Sorry.”

 _Sorry?_ It’d been nearly two months since he saw Dean last. They’d planned to see each other tonight nearly a week ago. “Why didn’t you text me earlier, when you stopped for repairs? Why only call me now?” He was getting too angry. “I would’ve stopped driving earlier, I wouldn’t’ve stopped here.”

“I don’t know, didn’t think it’d take hours.” Dean’s voice was growing tense. “I don’t fucking control this shit.”

“‘Least you can do is try and make it. I mean, it’s been fucking weeks—” He cut himself off, his pulse pounding too quick.

“You know, I had to work my route around to try and meet up, it was never guaranteed I was gonna make it.”

Castiel felt hot shame run through him. Dean didn’t care as much as he did, didn’t understand. Still, he said, “Didn’t know it was such a pain to see me.”

“That’s not what I meant—” Dean huffed. “Listen, I don’t have fucking time for this, I’m tired. Just didn’t work out this time. We’ll get another chance.”

Castiel knew Dean was right, knew he was being irrational, getting so upset. He shouldn’t care so much. “Fine,” he said, a little too harshly. “Maybe we’ll get to see each other in another two fucking months.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Dean hung up and Castiel tossed his phone onto the dashboard, swore under his breath. He knew Dean had no control over whether a part wore down on his truck or not, knew shit like this happened and plans had to change, but he was so fucking tired of never getting to see each other. 

He finished logging his inspection, got ready for bed. By the time he turned off the lights, his anger had faded into bitter disappointment. His face burned as he lay in the dark, wondering what Dean must think of him. Probably thought he was pathetic, for getting so angry, for acting like Dean had an obligation to see him. It was his own fault for hanging everything on whether he saw Dean or not. Sure, he knew other drivers, but no one like Dean. Didn’t care for anyone like him. And, yet, in between the brief times they saw each other, it was all radio silence. No texts, no calls other than brief ones sharing their routes. He’d been so fucking excited to learn they’d finally be in the same area at the same time.

Curling up onto his side, he tried to reassure himself that they'd find a way to see each other soon; they’d figure it out. He hated the uncertainty, though. Hated the way Dean acted like he didn’t care whether they saw each other or not. _Fuck_ , he hoped it was an act and not the truth. Hoped Dean was only putting up a front—though, that in itself was frustrating. That, after years of knowing each other, they still had to feign disinterest.

For a moment, he let himself wonder if this was a sign that this unpredictable thing he and Dean had wasn’t enough. That maybe he should be looking somewhere else, should be looking for a serious relationship, someone he could see more than only a few times a year. He couldn’t make himself believe it. He didn’t want anyone else. 

His thoughts ran in the same circles over and over, but he was finally drifted off to sleep when a thumping noise startled him awake. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, opening his eyes. Probably someone asking for money. He waited to see if they’d go away, then two more knocks sounded, louder this time. 

“Jesus,” he muttered, getting up, not bothering to pull sweatpants on over his boxers. He pushed aside the sleeper berth curtain as more knocking sounded. “For fuck’s sake—” Then he stopped short. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, opening the cab door. 

Dean grabbed the door as it swung open. “What do you mean, what the fuck am I doing here? You wanted to see me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but—” He glanced around the parking lot and stepped back for Dean to come inside before other drivers poked their heads out to see what the commotion was about. “What happened to you not wanting to drive over here?”

Ducking inside, Dean rolled his eyes. “Figured I either drove tonight or tomorrow morning, may as well get a few miles in tonight since I didn’t drive all day.” He shut the door and looked him over. “Were you asleep?”

“Yes. Trying to.” Dean had driven to see him? Pushing past the curtain, Dean went into the sleeper berth and, feeling a little shocked, Castiel followed, pulling the curtain shut behind them. 

“Looking more crowded in here.” Dean touched the leaves of one of the plants sitting on a shelf. “See you added more plants.” 

“Yeah, I did.” Despite his annoyance earlier, a smile slowly spread across his face watching him. Dean was here; he was really here. He'd been so afraid...

Dean glanced at him. “What?”

Castiel shrugged, tried to bite back his smile. “Just happy you decided to show. Been too fucking long.”

Yeah, well,” Dean sat down on the bed and dropped his hands on his lap. “Was just trying to save my ass. Was afraid you were gonna slash my tires next time we ended up at the same stop.”

Castiel reddened. “I didn’t mean to get so angry, it was stupid. I know you couldn’t control what happened with the repairs.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, I wasn’t exactly happy either that I got held up.”

Castiel nodded. That, he supposed, was Dean’s way of telling him he’d been disappointed they couldn’t see each other. He wondered how much he could read into Dean driving to see him—how much of the motivation was just Dean wanting to get laid, how much was Dean wanting to see him. 

“You gonna stare at me all night?” Dean asked. He motioned to him. “Come on, come here.”

Castiel went to him and let Dean pull him onto the bed. They kissed and Castiel sighed at Dean’s hands roaming his chest, his shoulders. He felt stupidly happy. No matter the reason, Dean had wanted to see him too, Dean wasn’t angry at him, he was here, and Castiel didn’t know where to put his hands, so eager to touch him, didn’t know how he got through weeks without seeing him—and that’s when it hit him, with a surge of affection filling his chest. A familiar feeling, but he’d never recognized it for what it was.

He loved Dean.

His eyes flew open and he pulled away from Dean, who frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, uh.” Castiel tried to gather himself.“Just, uh, thanks for driving to see me.” 

He thought Dean’s face reddened in the dim light. “Yeah, sure.” Dipping a finger under Castiel’s waistband, he grinned a little. “It was a really long drive, though. Four fucking hours. Think you owe me.”

“Right. Yeah.” Castiel couldn’t stop grinning again. Dean was here. “Whatever you want.”

“Don’t say that ‘less you mean it.”

Pushing him back, Castiel got on top of him and kissed him. _I love you_ , he thought, testing the words out as Dean pulled his hips down against his own. He was surprised at how natural the words felt. Not enough to say them aloud, though. Not when he thought the sentiment might be one-sided. It was enough just that Dean was here. 

_And now I won’t even have that,_ Castiel thought sorrowfully, putting out his cigarette. He shivered, hunching his shoulders against a biting wind. Turns out, Dean didn’t care like he did. Dean didn’t even care enough to keep things as they were, as unsatisfying as they were. Dean wanted to end everything between them. He didn’t want more.

It was over, and he had to accept it. He didn’t want to accept it. He wanted Dean. For such a transient job, he and Dean had always seemed long lasting. Somewhere along the line, he’d been tricked into thinking it’d always be like this. 

Voices carried from outside the bar, and he looked up. But none of the shadowed figures standing outside were Dean. 

_It’s over,_ he told himself, forcing himself to stand, joints stiff from the cold. _It is what it is what it is_. But goddammit, he’d always been too stubborn, and he loved Dean, and part of him had hoped, no matter how foolish, that Dean might feel the same way. Dean had driven four hours in the dead of night to see him, Dean had called to tell him his mom had died, Dean had said there was no one else, Dean had been his constant for seven years, and all that, it had to add up to something, didn’t it?

Maybe Dean truly missed him when they were apart. Or maybe not. Maybe he didn’t miss him like Castiel did. Castiel missed him enough to want something to change, to want more. To be able to give this thing between them a name. To be able to say Dean was his, that no one else had him. It felt absurd to even dream of having that, too absurd to admit, though the thought was always there, at the back of his mind.

He forced himself to get in his truck, pull shut the sleeper berth curtain, and lay in the dark. Still, the need to know pounded in his chest, kept him awake, eyes straining to recognize the outlines of shapes in the sleeper. He used to be content just holding the words inside. His own secret. He loved Dean and that was enough. It wasn’t enough anymore; he wasn’t that selfless. He wanted, needed, to speak the words, needed to hear them spoken to him.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

So, Cas was pissed at him. That much was clear. Upon waking after parking overnight at the bar, Dean had looked out the cab window to see Cas’ truck gone. No matter what Cas had said about accepting how things stood, he was angry—angry Dean was quitting, angry that whatever this was between them wasn’t going to grow into something more—whatever that meant.

It brought to mind something Sam had said once. Every once in a while, Sam nagged him, tried to set him up with someone. Once even went so far as to suggest maybe Cas was relationship material… Dean had shot that down pretty quick. It’d kinda stunned him, the suggestion. He’d never thought of Cas that way. Hadn't thought Cas would ever want something like that.

He supposed the idea wasn't so strange—he realized hooking up with Cas for seven years sounded pretty serious. And the idea of actually having some kind of relationship with Cas didn’t seem as absurd as it should. Maybe because they’d been friends for years now; maybe because they got along so well. Or maybe because it was Cas. Something told him he’d never have anything like this again with someone else. Not like with Cas.

Dean pushed that thought aside as he started driving, following his GPS to I-39. Because the truth was, he and Cas had spent more time apart than together these past years, and no one in their right mind could call what they had a relationship. More like a fling—albeit, a seven year long one. Neither of them had been looking for anything serious all this started, and while he didn't regret their times together, he'd always known they'd come to an end. Just the way things went. 

_More. Something serious._ He might understand what Cas meant, but that didn’t mean he agreed. He’d learned to be content with what they had, was trying to accept that it was now coming to a close. Why couldn’t Cas make it easy on the both of them and accept it too?

He only made it a few miles down the highway before spotting a Pilot Travel Center and pulling over with the internal excuse of using the can. A flimsy excuse because he knew this rest stop was the only one in miles and therefore, there was a good chance Cas had decided to park here for the rest of his 36 hours. And because Dean was an idiot and couldn’t leave anything alone and because he’d seen Cas leave the bar with someone last night, and he didn’t want to admit it, but a feeling all too close to jealousy had welled up in his chest, kept him awake half the night. 

Getting out of his truck, he spotted Cas leaving the rest stop with a cup of coffee, and headed over to him. “Hey!” he called. Cas turned, saw him, then turned back around, kept walking. 

Swearing under his breath, Dean hurried to catch up with him, squinting against the rising sun. As if he wasn’t miserable enough, he had a nagging hangover. “You’re headed to Washington, right? After your 36 hours?”

“Yes,” Cas said, not bothering to turn around.

“Guess this is where we split up then.” That got Cas’s attention, a quick glance over his shoulder. “I’ve gotta reach Indianapolis by tonight, drop ‘n hook, then straight back to Minneapolis.”

Cas slowed to a stop by his truck. “And then you’ll be off to Bobby’s.”

“Yeah.” 

Thumbing at the lid of his coffee cup, Cas nodded, expressionless, and Dean knew he shouldn’t bring it up, but he did anyway. “Looked like you and that guy were getting close last night.”

Cas eyed him. “He was another driver. We were talking.”

“You sleep with him?”

“Maybe.”

Dean huffed. “Really? You gonna be like that?”

Cas shrugged. “What’s it matter to you?”

What did it matter? He was the one who’d told Cas it was time to move on. He fought for words. “You know, I ain’t gone yet.”

“Yeah, but you will be soon. Figure I should start exploring my other options, since you won’t be around.”

“Fuck, really? Really, Cas? That’s how you want this to go? That’s how you want this to end?”

“Don’t—” Cas lowered his voice, stepped closer. “I’m not the one who’s calling everything off after seven fucking years.”

“Calling what off? There isn’t anything to call off! Thought we agreed there’s no chance of anything else happening.” 

“No, no, that’s what you keep saying, but that’s not true—”

“Think it is, Cas.”

“We've known each other for years now, and you know me better than anyone else, think I know you pretty well too. Forgive me for not wanting to give that up.”

“I never said we had to give it all up—”

“No, you said I could ‘visit.’ Stop the bullshit, Dean, I know you don’t mean it. You’ll never answer your phone and we’ll never see each other again. I don’t know how you can be okay with that. After everything.” 

Dean’s anger was mounting. “You’re only pissed because I’m doing what you’ve always wanted to do! Don’t take it out on me because you’re too scared to quit.”

Cas scoffed. “You’re an idiot, Dean. That isn’t it at all.”

“Then what is it, huh? Clue me in.”

“You know why I’m angry! I—” He stopped short and something shifted across his expression, one fist clenching at his side, as if he was working himself up to something. Then, in a rush, “Dean, I love you.”

Words like a blow to the chest. Dean couldn’t think, couldn't reply, and Cas continued, still in the rushed way, too urgent, as if he was running out of time, “I’ve loved you for a long time now, and I think we could have a real shot at something together—”

“No, no,” Dean found his voice, if only to stop Cas from speaking. “No, you can’t fucking put that on me. Why are you telling me now? This can’t—it won’t work—”

“It can—”

“Stop saying that! This is the way it is, sorry you got your feelings involved!” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, even more so at the wounded look on Cas’ face.

He thought he should try to take the words back, but he couldn’t speak. Cas wrenched open the door to his truck, and Dean thought he was going to leave.

Then Cas stopped and looked at him, one hand on the door. Distantly, Dean registered a truck sounding its horn across the lot and cars whizzing past on the highway, but all he really noticed was the way a slight wind pushed Cas' collar to the side, moved his hair across his forehead. He couldn't think of a thing to say.

When Cas spoke, his voice was level. “After all this fucking time, you’re really gonna tell me that this is what you want, that you really don’t feel anything towards me? After all this time.”

He didn’t ask so much as he stated it, but he still stood there waiting for an answer. Dean’s throat felt tight, his heart pounding, so he only shrugged. 

The wounded look reappeared, then Cas’ expression hardened and, silently, he got in his truck and slammed the door shut.

Dean turned away, swearing under his breath. His hands were shaking and, disoriented, he looked around the lot for his truck. Where had he parked? What did Cas mean, he loved—no, he couldn’t have meant it.

He walked away, refusing to look back at Cas. Cas was fucking delusional. If he wanted some fucking relationship, he should’ve gotten involved with someone else other than Dean. It’d never work out. They were proving it now, weren’t they? Couldn’t even be on the same page about what had been going on between them for the past seven fucking years, what it all meant.

He found his truck, opened the driver's door. Cas didn’t love him—Cas thought he loved him, Cas—Cas didn’t know what he wanted.

Getting in his truck, Dean slammed the door shut, sat in the driver’s seat, stared out the windshield unseeing. 

_For a long time now,_ Cas had said. How long? How long had Cas loved him—and why was he telling him now? Did he think Dean could love him back? Because Dean couldn’t—he’d never thought—they were just, this was just—

“Goddammit, Cas!" He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Why did Cas have to make everything so goddamn complicated?

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but eventually a blaring truck horn startled him and he came to his senses. He checked his mirrors, turned his key in the ignition, turned on his GPS, hands running on autopilot. Didn’t matter what Cas thought, didn’t matter how Cas felt, this was how things stood.

Fucking shame things had to end this way. But they were done. End of story. 


	7. Chapter 7

Dean spent the day driving to Indianapolis and picking up a new trailer, then making it a few hours towards Minneapolis before finding a place to park for the night. As it grew dark, light posts along the Love’s parking lot casting an orange glow, he went through his DVIR, inspecting his truck and trailer. Brake lights were good. Left back tire needed more air. He was so goddamn ready to be done with this repetition: drive all day, inspect the truck, sleep on a too firm bed, get up the next morning to do it again. One more day. 

Finishing logging his inspection, he wondered if he should call his dispatcher, ask if there was any way to drop off this trailer early. He was restless to get things going with the shop, reacquaint himself with the place. It’d been a while since he’d done much work there, usually just spent his hometime working on Baby. Now he’d actually get a chance to drive her. 

Unbidden, the thought rose in his head of having Cas over, getting a chance to really show him the place, show him Baby. In all the years they’d known each other, why hadn’t he ever invited Cas over for a simple visit, tried to spend their hometimes together?

“Fucking stupid,” he muttered aloud. As if that would change anything. Would’ve only made splitting up now harder.

A ringing pierced the night, startling him, and he pulled his phone from his pocket. “Hey, Bobby,” he said, answering it.

“Hey, son. Was waiting to hear back from you. Said you were gonna tell me when I gotta pick you up tomorrow. Never got back to me.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Dean rubbed at his forehead. “Uh. Should be around one. I’ll text you when I reach the terminal, never know how long it’ll take them to unload everything.”

“Alright, sounds good. You having second thoughts?”

Dean stopped short in walking back to the cab. “No, what? Why would you ask that?” 

“I was only joking, but now you got me concerned.” He could hear the curiosity in Bobby’s voice. “What’s wrong, what’s on your mind?”

“Forget it. It’s fine.”

“You can’t con a con man, boy. It ain’t fine, and I gotta know, because this is my shop we’re talking about. What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Nothing.” Bobby started to speak and, tired of all the questions, Dean cut him off, “None of your business, Bobby, I’m fine.”

He knew that was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. Thankful he wasn’t face to face with Bobby, he started muttering an apology, hoping to stave off the talking to Bobby would give him.

No such luck, as Bobby said, in the stern tone he knew too well, “Dean,” and Dean shut up. “I raised you better than your own daddy,” Bobby said. “And I didn’t raise you to be like him. Think I deserve some measure of respect.“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry.”

“You ain’t gotta tell me everything that’s ailing you, but ‘least you can do is not be an ass about it.”

Dean opened the driver's door. “Alright, alright, I get it.” 

“Now what the hell is going on with you?”

“It’s nothing, really. Just tired. Ready to be done driving and start working at the shop. I’m good, promise.”

“You better be,” Bobby muttered. Dean rolled his eyes, placing the DVIR tablet in its holder. “You get to meet up with that Castiel feller?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean said, feeling his face warm as he sank down on the driver’s seat. “Yeah, our routes crossed.”

“How’d he take the news of you quitting?”

Why did everyone keep asking him that? “Fine. He’s, uh, he’s happy for me. Didn’t have much of an opinion on it.”

“Really? Thought you two were close. He gonna be coming to visit?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Fuck him for ever talking about Cas around Bobby. “I don’t know. Probably not.” As an afterthought, he added, “We’re not _that_ close.”

Bobby snorted and Dean rolled his eyes again, licked his thumb to rub at a smudge on the driver’s window. “Listen, boy,” Bobby said. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but let me tell you something.”

Trying to suppress a sigh, Dean said, “Mhm?”

“Your dad, he had good intentions, I’ll give him that, but the one thing he didn’t have was a lick of sense. Could never figure out what he wanted from life.”

Dean wanted to ask what the hell John had to do with anything, but he held his tongue, resigning himself to waiting out whatever lesson Bobby had to dish out now.

Bobby continued, “First, John thought he wanted a wife, then some kids, then thought he wanted to travel, thought he wanted the road. Coulda had both, if he really tried, but he was always too busy moving on to the next thing. Guess where that got him? Drunk, divorced, and broke. Lonely as hell too. I don’t wanna see you end up the same.”

Right, that was it. Dean felt his shoulders relax. “You don’t gotta worry about me, Bobby. I ain’t like that. I know what I want. I wanna quit driving, I wanna work at a shop. I’m not having second thoughts.”

“Good. But I gotta ask, that really all you want?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Bobby was quiet for a long moment and Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you know yourself best,” he finally said. “But… I’m gonna give you a piece of advice, and you better listen carefully because I don’t have much advice to give. You find a good thing in life, you don’t give up on it. That shit don’t come easy and it only comes around so often. You’d be a fool to let it go.”

A good thing. Eerily similar to what Cas had told him. Just how much did Bobby know, or guess? “This shop, it’s a good thing,” he said, because that was true. “Living close to you, to Sam and Eileen and Jack, it’s what I want.” And that was also true. Sure, there was plenty else he could wish for, but better not to dwell on those things. “Everything’s gonna work out.”

“I know it will,” Bobby said. “I’m proud of ya. You and Sammy both. And you better not run my shop bankrupt. You and Sam are gonna be the ones paying to send me on cruises when I retire.”

Dean snorted. “Keep dreaming.”

When he and Bobby hung up, he stayed sitting. Headlights swept through the cab’s front windshield, across the walls and ceiling. _A good thing._

Rousing himself, he went into the sleeper berth and tried not to wonder where Cas was tonight, tried not to wonder if he’d seen him for the last time.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_two years ago_

Maybe it was to win the bet, maybe it was to impress Cas who he knew was watching from across the bar even though they hadn’t spoken yet, or maybe it was just because it was a good time, but Dean found himself once again riding Larry the mechanical bull at Baby Blue’s honky tonk bar in Carroll County, Arkansas. 

Benny had bet him fifty bucks he couldn’t stay on the whole ride, and Dean was never one to pass up easy money. It wasn’t his fault Benny didn’t know he’d done this a few times. When Larry slowed to a stop, he let go of the handle and leaned back, draping himself over the back of the saddle to rub his win in, and maybe just a little because he knew it’d make Cas roll his eyes.

Climbing off the bull, he made his way over to where Benny was standing at the bar, shaking his head good-naturedly.

“Dammit,” he swore, digging into his wallet. “You’re gonna send me into the poorhouse.”

“Your own fault,” Dean said, taking the fifty dollar bill from him. He glanced over to where he knew Cas was sitting, talking to Hannah across the bar—or, rather, Hannah was talking to him. She’d been trying to get into Cas’ pants for years now, but it seemed she couldn’t take a hint. 

Dean ordered a whiskey and, nodding at something Hannah was saying, Cas looked over at him. Dean winked surreptitiously. He caught the slightest flush in Cas’ face before Cas turned away. As an unspoken rule, he and Cas didn’t hang out much in public. He guessed not to draw suspicion, though it seemed, despite their efforts, it was well known they were friends, and a few people, like Meg, might even see through the act. 

Still, he was too buzzed to care very much right now, and, taking the glass the bartender slid over to him, he headed to Cas' side.

“Hey, Cas.” He slapped down the fifty dollar bill he’d just earned. “Fifty bucks says you can’t last the whole time on Larry.”

Cas eyed the mechanical bull, and Hannah looked slightly annoyed at Dean for interrupting their conversation, which was the best reward Dean could’ve gotten. 

He nudged Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, shouldn’t be hard, you’ve had practice.” 

He grinned when Cas glared at him and stood up. If there was anyone more competitive than him, it was Cas.

“Alright,” Cas said, shedding his jacket. “I’ll do it.”

Dean took his jacket from him and draped it over his stool. “You and Cas are close right?” Hannah asked as Cas headed over to the bull pen.

“What?” Dean asked, glancing at her. “Yeah, uh, I mean, sorta.”

“You know if him and Meg have a thing?”

Inwardly, Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Don’t think so.” Hannah looked buoyed by that, so he added, “Don’t think he’s interested in anyone right now. I think he has someone back home.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, sounding disappointed. It’d been a lie, but it made Dean wonder all the same if Cas did have someone else back home that he was seeing. There had to be others; they saw each other so infrequently. He realized with a start that he wished he was the only one, and quickly pushed the thought aside.

While Cas tried, he was no match for Larry. Dean would’ve willingly let him win the bet, though, just to keep seeing the way his thighs gripped the side of the bull and the way he rolled his hips to stay in the saddle. Still, he couldn’t help laugh as Cas got thrown and tumbled to the cushioned area around the bull. 

“Fuck,” Cas swore, getting to his feet, and Dean kept laughing as he walked over, eyes narrowed at him.

“Pay up,” Dean told him. Taking out his wallet, Cas put two twenties and a ten onto the bar and Dean snatched them up, making a show out of counting them and slipping them into his wallet. “Nice try, buddy. Better luck next time.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas moved his jacket aside and sat down. “I think the machine is defective, I could’ve done it.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He squeezed Cas’ shoulder before heading to the back of the room where Benny was up against someone in a game of pool.

Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t stay focused on the game and surrounding conversation, and kept glancing back at the bar. He was starting to hate the way he and Cas kept this thing between them a secret. He knew there were plenty of other truckers in their shoes so he’d like to see someone try to make a problem out of it, though it was easier to avoid the questions and judgement.

Those closest to him knew he hooked up with guys as much as women, but he’d never come out or anything like Cas had. Just started messing around in high school, let whatever happened happen. Then he met Lisa and she was it for a while. Once they got divorced, he started exploring again, then there was Cas.

He watched Cas excuse himself from Hannah and head off to the bathroom hallway. Dean drained his glass before following him.

Inside the grimy bathroom, Cas was washing his hands. He caught Dean’s eye in the mirror before looking down, and Dean moved out of the way for someone to leave through the door. No one stood at the urinals, and the stalls looked empty, so when Cas turned off the faucet, Dean grabbed his arm and tugged him to the largest stall at the end. 

Locking the door behind them, he lost no time in kissing Cas, who protested getting pushed up against the wall. “It’s gross in here," he complained.

“Couldn’t wait,” Dean said.

He fumbled with Cas’ fly, and Cas pushed his hands away. “There’s a motel down the street, you know.”

Dean paused, drawing back to meet his eyes. “Yeah?”

“If you can wait five minutes, we can get a room.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I can do that.” Still, he couldn’t resist kissing under Cas’ jaw, stubble rough against his lips, Cas’ hands clutching at his shirt. 

He’d never pictured himself having anything serious with a guy—not that he would call this infrequent thing with Cas serious. Though they’d sure known each other a long time. He felt a little dizzy thinking about it. When had it happened—when had he started wanting Cas, and only Cas?

There were words surging in his throat and he made the mistake of letting them out. “I really love—like this. Doing this. Being with you.” His face flushed. _Fuck,_ he sounded like an idiot. Maybe Cas would think he was too drunk to get his words out and take pity on him.

Or maybe Cas was even drunker than he was, because he nodded and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck. “I like being with you too,” he said, and didn’t that beat all. 

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

_present day_

“Should be ready to unload in 'bout an hour,” said the man behind the desk at Dean’s Minneapolis drop-off location, taking the paperwork Dean had signed.

 _So, two hours,_ Dean figured, heading back to his truck. Clanging sounded from a warehouse door being opened, shrill beeps echoing as a truck backed up into the dock. A flock of birds startled from the trees surrounding the shipping center and tipped and swirled in the sky. Once this trailer he’d been dragging got unloaded, he’d park it at the nearest drop yard and say goodbye to the place that had been his home for the last three weeks. 

He hadn’t packed up his stuff yet, but he didn’t have much anyway. Collecting his sleepwear from its crumpled mess on the bed, he shoved his clothes into his duffel bag. Next were the single set of dishes and silverware he kept on a shelf and a rosary he kept hanging from his rear view mirror—his mom’s. She’d given it to him when he started driving even though she knew he didn’t pray. 

He stared at it for a moment, holding it in his hand, and wished he’d quit driving before she died. He could’ve been around more. His mind ran to Cas coming over after the funeral, to walking through Bobby’s scrap yard with him. He’d been nervous about Cas visiting because it felt like such a huge thing, to have him meet his family. Too personal. But when Cas arrived, it felt right. Felt natural to sit at the dinner table with Cas and his family because Cas wasn’t a stranger, wasn’t just a hookup, he was a friend. He’d tried telling Cas how much he appreciated him coming over, but words didn’t do it justice. Cas, though, always knew what to say, knew the right words when Dean’s thoughts were a complicated mess.

Dean always said the wrong things. He pushed away an image of Cas’ hurt expression and carefully hung the rosary back up. He still had to drive to the drop yard to meet Bobby, he needed it a little longer.

Thinking of Bobby, he reached for his phone to text him, tell him to head over to pick him up. Then he paused and let his hand drop. Once Bobby picked him up, that was it. Much as he’d wanted to quit for so long, it all felt too soon. He’d been driving for 15 years, but it still seemed there were things left undone, unsaid. Like he was leaving on the cusp of something more.

_Fuck, more._

Trying to distract himself, he folded up the bed linens, and then there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Not that he could just sit. Cas’ words echoed in his head, as much as he tried to ignore them.

 _I love you._

Dean stood and pulled up the blinds on the window just to do something with his hands. Cas had only said it as a last, desperate bid to get him to stick around, he told himself. That’s all. No way Cas could really feel that way.

It felt like a betrayal to think so, though. He’d seen the way Cas visibly worked up the courage to tell him. Of course, even if Cas really had meant what he said, there was no way he felt the same now. Dean's stomach twisted in guilt at the way he’d shot Cas down, insulted him.

He hadn’t meant to hurt him, far from it. But he’d panicked. Because he hadn’t known that was an option, that Cas could love him. 

Outside the window, a streetlight turned red on an empty road behind the lot. Dean leaned on the wall and watched, absentmindedly picking at the skin around his thumbnail. He should’ve seen the signs—Cas asking to team drive, Cas visiting him when his mom died. 

Didn’t matter now, though. And it was better to end things this way. They would soon be living two different lives, no point in dragging anything out. 

Grabbing his phone, he told himself to suck it up and call Bobby. Time to quit, time to move on. Instead, his eyes fell to a crumpled receipt in the center console. He grabbed it to throw it away, then noticed it was from one of the motels he and Cas had stayed at a few days ago.

“Shit,” he muttered aloud, dropping the receipt back into the console. He knew what “moving on” meant: never getting to see Cas on the road again—really, never getting to ever see him again, what with the way he’d acted. Ruined everything. 

He _had_ had an idea of Cas’ true feelings, hadn't he? Much as he’d tried to ignore it, there was always something hovering just under the surface between him and Cas, something that had been threatening to emerge for some time now. 

Cas knew; he knew. They just never spoke of it. Well, until now. Not him, though. Cas.

“Fuck.” He rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms. Cas had said he loved him, Cas had said there was no way Dean didn’t feel anything towards him.

Of course he felt something towards him; they’d been hooking up, they’d been friends, for seven years now.

But he knew what Cas meant. Because he couldn’t stop thinking about the time he’d called Cas in the middle of the night to tell him his mom had died. He’d gotten off the phone with Sam and needed to hear Cas’ voice. Had wanted to see him, and he was lucky Cas offered because he couldn’t get the words out. 

And he kept thinking about calling Cas a few weeks ago, when Bobby offered him the shop. He’d wanted to discuss it with Cas, tell him that he wanted to quit driving, but that he didn’t want this between them to end. Tried to tell him, even went so far as picking up the phone and calling, but he’d been too drunk and got the words all wrong, and couldn’t get the truth out.

If he didn’t quit, if he kept Cas close—and it frightened him to think it—maybe whatever this was between them would grow and he’d realize he and Cas didn’t want such different things after all. Maybe he’d realize he wanted more too. 

But it was too late now. Cas would have dropped off his shipment by now, if everything had gone to schedule. Probably already on his way back west. And Dean was leaving.

Sitting down in the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts to Bobby’s name—then kept going, stopped at Cas’ name. He should leave things how they were, right?

The crumpled motel receipt taunted him. Seemed a waste; seven years all reduced to this. Horrible ending.

Biting his thumbnail, he told himself all good things came to an end, over and over again until the words lost their meaning. No one was saying it had to be this way, that this had to end. Just him. And maybe he was wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Tapping Cas’ name, he brought his phone to his ear. The dial tone droned once, then twice. Dean shoved his free hand into his jacket pocket and shut his eyes. 

_Come on, Cas, please_ , he begged. 

A third time, then the ringing abruptly stopped. A pause, then, “Dean?”

“Cas.” He hesitated and Cas was silent on the other end. “Where are you? Did you leave Wisconsin yet?”

“Yes.”

“I’m at my last drop-off.” Cas remained silent, and Dean took a deep breath. “Once they unload my truck, I’m heading to Bobby’s, but... I wanna see you. Before I go.”

Cas didn’t speak and Dean worried he was going to hang up, was going to tell him this gesture was too little too late. He was on the verge of begging Cas to give him a chance, when Cas said, “I should reach Fargo by tonight.”

“Okay.” Dean glanced at his watch, relief flooding him. He didn’t know how he was going to get there, but, “Okay. I can be there in a few hours.”

“Alright.” Cas hung up then and Dean felt a tightness in his chest lessen. It was quickly replaced by anxiety. What was he going to say? Why would Cas ever listen? But Cas had picked up the phone, agreed to see him. That had to mean there was hope. 

Hope for what, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t imagine life without Cas, didn’t want to. Was maybe even desperate enough to try _more,_ whatever that looked like. God, he just didn’t want to lose Cas.

An hour and a half later and the trailer was unloaded. Dean dropped off the truck and trailer at the drop yard, signed some papers, texted Bobby, _I’ve got something to do. I'll be home tomorrow_ , and caught a Greyhound. His nerves only increased as the hours passed, but one thought kept him in his seat: that if he didn’t see Cas now, he might never again. And even he wasn’t idiotic enough to risk that. 

When the bus crossed into North Dakota, his phone vibrated and he looked down to see Cas had texted him where he was staying: _Century Motel. Room 113._ The familiarity of it managed to make him smile a little, and he tried to take a deep breath. Something was building in his chest, a pressure made up of words unsaid, feelings he’d never tried to untangle. Wiping his palms on his jeans, he stared out the window at the blur of prairie and road. He realized he was tired of stamping everything down; he wanted to speak and see what came out.

The Greyhound stopped in Fargo and Dean disembarked, got his bearings. His shadow headed in front of him as he walked to the motel, sunlight glinting off passing cars and trucks. His heart pounded with every step, then he rounded a corner and came upon the motel. And there sat Cas on the curb in front of the row of motel doors. 

Dean’s steps faltered a little, and he slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. Cas was smoking, staring at the asphalt, the setting sun making his shadow stretch out long, and the sight of him steadied Dean. He watched Cas tap the ash from his cigarette, rub a hand through his hair as he looked up at the sky, and the thought rose in his mind that the feeling welling up in his chest, a feeling he’d felt in smaller measures before but always quickly tamped down, sure felt a lot like love. 

Cas looked up as he approached. Some emotion passed over his face, eyes softening, then he looked down again. 

_Please, let me fix this,_ Dean inwardly pleaded, stopping in front of him. Cas stubbed out his cigarette on the curb, still not meeting his eyes. 

“Cas, I—” He stopped there, unsure what he was going to say. Shifting his weight, he adjusted his duffel bag strap on his shoulder. He didn’t have all the words like Cas. God, how did Cas just come out with it, say what he meant?

When Cas seemed inclined to stay silent, he ventured, “Can we talk?” 

Looking up, _finally,_ Cas met his eyes. Dean hoped he looked contrite enough; he regretted everything he’d said plenty. “Please?” he tried. 

He felt his shoulders sag in relief when Cas stood from the sidewalk curb. “Alright.”

Dean deposited his bag in Cas’ room and they walked out back of the motel to where a park lay, walkways and grass, a shimmering pond in the middle. A few people walked along the paths: a woman pushing a stroller, an elderly couple taking slow, thoughtful steps. 

“I didn’t think I was gonna see you again,” Cas said when they’d walked for several minutes, footsteps crunching on the gravel path, Dean trying to form his thoughts into words that wouldn’t make things worse.

 _I thought so too,_ Dean thought. He looked out at the water, sunlight glinting sharply off the surface. “I had to see you again.” Figuring an apology was in order, he said, “I didn’t mean it, all I said. Wasn’t right.”

He glanced at Cas, who silently studied the ground. _Fuck_ , Cas was going to make this hard for him. But he probably deserved it. “I just… I don’t know,” he continued, following Cas’ gaze to their shadows. “All these years, we had our thing and that was it, and it was enough. Or, I thought it was. Didn’t ever think to ask for more. Didn’t think that was an option.”

Feeling a little shaky, he sat down on a bench near the water’s edge and, his face unreadable, Cas sat next to him. He didn’t look angry, at least. Just somber. Serious in the way that was so undeniably Cas, it made Dean’s heart ache.

He had to fix this.

He tried again, “All I know is, you’re my best friend. I mean, we’ve known each other forever, or feels like it. And I don’t blame you for wanting more.” That sounded like another good thing to say. “Hell, makes sense. Just, I don’t know, I wasn't expecting it, and I kinda panicked—”

“Dean.” Castiel touched his arm, stopping his slew of words. He looked almost apologetic—but that wasn’t right, Dean thought. Cas shouldn’t be apologizing; all he’d done was speak the truth. “I want you to know. You don’t have to love me back, I understand if you don’t—”

“You said I must feel something for you,” Dean interrupted. Pulling his hand away, Cas nodded, looking down at his boots. “You were right. I do.” Cas’ shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look up. “Of course I do. I don’t know what it is, exactly, didn’t realize I felt anything—maybe I did, maybe I was just ignoring it.”

His heart thudded in his chest as he studied Cas' profile. “Did you mean it? Do you… Do you still mean it?”

Cas met his eyes, and Dean forced himself to hold his gaze. “Of course,” Cas answered simply.

Dean’s breath hitched, even though he’d guessed the reply. _You love me._ He felt dizzy at the thought.

Dragging his eyes away, Cas looked out at the water. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, but I had to tell you. I wouldn’t’ve been able to live with myself if I let you go without saying it.” He frowned a little, then turned to Dean again. “I’m tired of never saying what we mean. I’m tired of pretending that seeing you a few times a year is enough. I’m tired of never getting to be with you.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Me too,” he admitted, and it felt like a lot to say, but it was such a relief to confess it. 

“Then why do we keep acting like it isn’t true?” Cas sounded as frustrated with himself as with Dean. “Seven years is a long fucking time, Dean. A long time to keep each other at a distance.”

“I know,” Dean said. He took a deep breath, forced the words out, “But… nothing lasts forever, Cas. That’s how it goes. Maybe we both knew this was gonna end eventually. Maybe we’re not cut out for more.” It hurt, saying the words, but it was the truth. Much as he wanted to be with Cas, he didn’t want to kid himself into thinking it was the smartest choice, that it would work.

But it hurt, even more so at the look Cas turned on him. “How can you say that? 

“Cas, trust me, I don’t want this to end—”

“Then it doesn’t have to! Dean, I told you, it’s a choice. And,” he waved his hand, “so what if years down the line, this does end? I’m not asking for forever. We won’t live forever. I’m just asking for you and me. That’s all. However long we last. But I don’t want you sabotaging anything before it starts.”

“When you say it like that…” Resting his forearms on his knees, Dean stared out at the water. He’d been telling himself for so long that he and Cas wouldn’t last—not wanting to get his hopes up, not wanting to hold any expectations that might disappoint him—that it felt foreign now to think this might not end, that he could have more if he wanted it. A little exhilarating too. 

“Can’t say… can’t say I don’t want it.” He picked at the skin around his thumbnail, then straightened, crossed his arms. “Maybe I won’t quit, I’ll keep driving—“

“No,” Cas said quickly. “Dean, no. I’m not gonna keep you from doing what you wanna do.”

“Then how is this gonna work? I ain’t doing some half-assed thing like we’ve had all these years. And I ain’t doing long distance. I tried that with Lisa, I don’t wanna do that again.” 

Cas scratched his thumbnail into the wood of the bench. Light played across his hair and face, filtering through the tree leaves above, and Dean felt that feeling again, a warmth in his chest spreading outwards, making him a little lightheaded, tingling in his fingertips. How long had he felt this way towards Cas?

“I’ve been thinking about quitting for a while," Cas said quietly. "And it’s not like I have any home I’m attached to.”

Dean stared at him for a moment, then it hit him what Cas was saying. “Cas, no. I’m not letting you come to Sioux Falls with me.”

Cas straightened. “Why not? Because you don’t want to, or—”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just. I don’t want you to upend your life for me.” Cas started to speak, and he cut him off, “Cas, really. I’m not worth it.”

“That’s not true, Dean.”

“I’ll drive you crazy.”

Cas huffed. “You keep saying that. Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Come close, though, right?” He grinned a little when Castiel tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. “Soon enough, Cas.”

Shaking his head, Cas said, “Wish you’d give it a real shot.”

“What?”

Cas turned to face him, fixing him with a steady look. “Prove it. Stick by me and drive me crazy.”

“Are you daring me?”

“Is that what it will take?”

Dean studied the water rippling on the bank. “No. No, think I’d rather just stick around on my own.” Cas' gaze pulled his like a magnet, eyes earnest. He'd come too damn close to losing him, giving him up. “You’re sure? You really wanna see more of me?”

“Completely,” Cas said. “I love you.”

Dean felt his face warm. He didn’t know how Cas could just say it. So plainly. No fear. But it must’ve felt like such a relief for Cas to finally get the words out; Dean wanted to know what that was like.

Ducking his head, he picked at his thumbnail, working up his courage. “I know you said you don’t expect me to feel the same way, to love you. But I think… I think I might. Love you.” His heart beat faster to admit it, even in such a faltering way. “Think I have for a while.”

He stared at his hands, blood pounding in his ears, then Cas touched his wrist, fingers light. He let Cas take his hand, hold it between both of his. Lifting his head, he studied Cas for a long moment, eyes roaming over his face. He should’ve been nervous, should’ve been running through all the possibilities and what-if’s, all the what now's, but instead with Cas’ holding his hand, holding his gaze, he felt calm. 

“You and me, huh?” he asked.

Cas nodded. “You and me.”

It felt right.


	8. Epilogue

**_·_ ** _nine_ _months later_ **_·_ **

Dean was twenty-five when he first saw Cas on a stretch of road outside of Golden, Colorado. It was that first spark of attraction he remembered clearly. He didn’t know, though, when he fell in love. Maybe it wasn’t just one moment, but more a series of moments, a slow development through the years.

Maybe it all started that first moment he saw Cas, maybe not. He didn’t believe in love at first sight, but when he remembered seeing Cas for the first time, he remembered loving him. Maybe, now that he loved Cas, he couldn’t see him any other way.

**·◎◎◎·◎◎◎·**

Dean was elbow deep in the hood of a 1966 Cadillac when Bobby called his name above the music blasting through the garage. Reaching over to turn down the radio, Dean straightened and looked up. “Got a visitor,” Bobby said, nodding behind him at the garage's entrance.

Turning around, Dean caught sight of Cas walking inside and smiled. “Hey,” he called.

“Hey.” Cas held up a plastic grocery bag, his blue employee vest from the grocery store draped over his arm. “I brought lunch.”

Wiping his hands on a rag, Dean kissed him when he stopped at his side. “Give me two seconds, okay?”

Cas nodded. “I’ll be out back.” He headed that way, calling, “Hi, Bobby.”

Bobby nodded at him, smiling to himself as he returned to going through their parts inventory, and Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I ain’t saying nothing,” Bobby protested, though he was still smiling. Dean shut the hood of the car and he spoke up, “Don’t be taking a long lunch break now.”

“Hey,” Dean said, pointing at himself as he tossed a dirty rag to the side. “I own the shop now, remember? I’ll take as long a lunch break as I want.” He grinned as Bobby cursed him out good-naturedly. 

Stepping outside, he squinted a little in the sunlight. Cas sat in their usual spot—on the curb lining the back lot, under the shade of a tree with hanging branches. 

“We really gotta get some chairs out here or something,” Dean complained, sinking down next to him on the curb warm from the sun, knees creaking in protest. “Or, you know. Sit inside where there’s chairs.”

“I like being in the sunlight,” Cas said. He handed over a wrapped sub. “Straight from the deli. Just like you wanted.”

Dean cheered up instantly, taking it from him. “You’re an angel.” Leaning over, he kissed him on the cheek.

“And you’re very easy to please,” Cas deadpanned, though he was fighting back a smile.

As they ate, they talked about their respective days at work. Dean’s morning had been filled mainly with paperwork and dealing with a cranky customer. Cas had had a far busier day. He ticked off on his fingers everything that happened so far at the grocery store: he’d stocked shelves and cleaned up a spill in aisle three, Ms. Butters had come in and bought cat food for another stray she’d picked up, someone had puked in the bathroom. 

“Exciting day,” Dean commented. 

“Easily one of the top ten most eventful days, for sure.”

Dean laughed and they fell into an easy silence. The sound of passing cars on the main road was muffled, sitting as they were behind the shop, and clanging and creaks came from inside the garage. Cas leaned back on his elbows in the green grass, tilting his face up to the sun, and Dean had to smile looking at him. 

“What?” Cas asked, catching him watching. 

“Nothing,” Dean said. Cas rolled his eyes, but he smiled a little as he turned back to the sun and shut his eyes.

Dean smiled down at his boots, a comfortable warmth that had nothing to do with the sun spreading through his chest. Sometimes it hit him all at once just how much everything had changed in the past few months. Taking over the shop, getting used to the work, getting used to this new relationship with Cas.

That last one was easiest. Cas quit driving a few weeks after he did, got a job at a supermarket down the street from the garage, and started taking classes for an associate’s business degree, thought maybe he’d get a job as a dispatch manager one day. A lot of changes, so he and Dean agreed to take things slow between them, not rush into things, and Cas got an apartment downtown alone.

That agreement lasted all of two weeks. By then, Dean was practically living with Cas, so it wasn’t much of a decision at all to move the rest of his stuff over from Bobby’s and make it official. Way they figured, they'd had enough of taking things slow. They fell into everything so easily, seemed they’d been doing this relationship thing a long time. He guessed they sorta had.

Glancing down at his watch, Dean swore softly and Cas blinked his eyes open. “I should head back inside.”

Nodding, Cas stood and offered his hand. Dean knocked it aside. “I’m not fucking old.” Pushing himself to his feet, he winced at the twinge in his back and, seeing Cas bite back a smile, told him, “Shuddup.”

Cas laughed at him and threw away their trash in the dumpster outside the shop. “You got homework or whatever tonight?” Dean asked.

“Per usual,” Cas said, dropping the dumpster lid with a clatter and brushing off his hands. "Which means, no distracting me."

Dean grinned. “It’s not called distracting, it’s called giving you well-earned breaks.”

“Call it what you want, but I’d like to not fail my classes.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d also like to not get fired, so…” 

He took a step in the direction of the store, and Dean snagged his wrist, tugging him to a stop. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To work?” His attempt at innocence was ruined by the grin tugging at his mouth.

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting, and Cas broke into a full grin. Stepping close, he kissed Dean. “I completely forgot,” he explained.

“Mhm,” Dean said, not believing a word of it. He kissed Cas again, then let him go. “Love you,” he said.

“Love you too,” Cas said, heading around the building to the main road. He turned to wave and call, “See you tonight.”

Tonight and tomorrow night and the night after that. Day after day after day. Mornings and lunch breaks, lazy Saturdays spent in bed, evening drives. No more saying goodbye for weeks on end. Dean didn’t ever want to say goodbye again. 

And for once, he knew he didn’t have to, not anymore. Cas had said he wasn’t asking for forever, but Dean knew he wasn’t going to stop loving Cas before then. And he had a pretty good idea Cas would love him that long too. Forever it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i've been wanting to write a trucker au for a while now, and i'm so glad i finally got the opportunity. i'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments :)
> 
> and make sure to check out the art post [here](https://impmakesart.tumblr.com/post/644032341800566784/drive-me-crazy)! reblog and leave a comment bc this fic would not exist without mack's incredible artwork <3
> 
> as always, you can check out my tumblr [here](https://expectingtofly.tumblr.com/) to stay updated on whatever project i find myself working on next :)


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